Daddy Dearest
by Rachelle Ryan
Summary: X-Over with X-Men. After more than 17 years of drug and alcohol induced vagueness what does Xander Harris' mother realize when she comes out of it?
1. Part I:Ghost

Summary: X-Over with X-Men. After more than 17 years of drug and alcohol induced vagueness what does Xander Harris' mother realize when she comes out of it?  
  
Disclaimer: I don't anybody. Though I obviously think that *I* could do much better with them then their owners if I did.  
  
A/N: I know this is one of the most popular ideas concerning Xander, but I just couldn't resist writing this. Seems I just can't resist a friggin' cliché, who knew? ***  
  
Daddy Dearest  
  
I was sitting at the kitchen table in my old blue bathrobe, the one that had seen a thousand long nights and even later mornings and was so faded it was bordering on white, cradling a cup of fresh coffee in a mug I figured was older than me. I was gazing down at the ugly yellow-splotched Formica top. I could see the chips gouged from the years of abuse revealing the cheap plywood underneath. The tabletop reminded me of my life: ugly, damaged, and three days from being left on the curb for the trash man. I grimaced and took a sip of my coffee. ^Boy, I've become morose since I cleaned up.^  
  
The house was quiet. Anthony had packed up and left days ago. I snorted bitterly. His last words to me after 17 years of marriage were, "You're no fun anymore." Just because I no longer wanted to spend my life trashed, high, and wasted. I'd hit bottom and decided to clean up and what do I get from my husband? Talks on what the latest designer drug is. That man was a bastard. I tugged on one of the brown locks of my hair that had fallen into my face. I was high when I married him, that's the only thing I can come up with.  
  
Alexander bounced down the stairs as I sat there wallowing. I started and watched him with eagle eyes. My heart lurched when he grabbed a Poptart from a box on the counter not even acknowledging my existence or seeming to notice me sitting there. I guess that in a way I hadn't existed to him for years. He'd been doing things on his own as soon as he could walk because I couldn't be bothered. I saw his automatic glance and realized with a jolt it was a check for his father. I watched silently as he manipulated the toaster hitting it a few times on the side to get it started. The whole thing felt like a practiced ritual. ^I wouldn't know would I?^ I thought harshly. ^Getting up before noon is no fun with a hangover.^  
  
Alexander drummed his fingers on the counter in a pattering rhythm. I found myself looking closely at those fingers trying to find some connection to my son and at a loss for what else to do. He had graceful fingers, lean and mobile looking. So unlike Anthony's stubs.  
  
A whisper of Cajun silk murmured in my ear as a ghost from the past drifted into the room. ^Remy..^ He stood before me like it was yesterday. He was young, a few years younger than me. His auburn hair fell haphazardly in front of his eyes and a rakish smile curled his lips. His ripped jeans and holed tee shirt didn't detract from his charm and the long brown leather duster he habitually wore fell around him like a cloak of mystery. He held out his hand to me looking almost solid. Then Alexander stepped in the way of the memory making Remy dissipate like a cloud of smoke. I blinked and focused on my son. He stood before me in much the same pose as my ghost. His black brown hair fell over his forehead and a small smile graced his lips his hand half extended. I took a deep breath as I noticed the resemblance. They had the same nose, the same cheekbones, the same lips, their hair shared the same tendency to ignore gravity and fall prey to it at the same time. They were the same height, build. I glanced at Alexander's hands. They looked so much like hands I was intimately familiar with.  
  
"You okay?" Alexander asked frowning slightly. I guess my shock colored my face.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." I said breathlessly. He shrugged and bent to pick his backpack from where it had been leaning against the table leg. My eyes tracked him as he grabbed his breakfast then rushed out the door only half seeing him. Overshadowing him was the man I had briefly known during a steamy N'Orleans summer.  
  
^My God, how could I have not noticed?^ I snorted at myself. That was a stupid question. I'd spent Alexander's childhood so blasted most of the time I didn't even know my own name. Of course I hadn't noticed that my son showed no resemblance to his supposed father and a hell of a big one to the boyfriend before him. ^It could be a coincidence.^ I sighed this time. The truth was that just about anyone would have been a better father than Anthony Harris. Obviously my son didn't feel safe around him. Even now that he was gone Alexander kept a watchful eye out of habit. I had just seen that for myself. The trouble was Remy Lebeau was the risk it all type. I couldn't see him staying in New Orleans and quietly following in his father's footsteps like everyone seem to expect he would. Finding him would be a bitch and did really have the right to do that to Alexander? As bad as Tony had been as a father I hadn't been a much better mother. I never beat Alexander or yelled at him but I never did anything else either. Yet he *knew* we were his parents. If I pulled that rug out from under him just because of a suspicion what would that do to him?  
  
I rubbed my forehead. ^It's just a suspicion.^ I took another sip of my coffee and grimaced at it's bitterness. 


	2. Awakening

I sat in the kitchen in my blue/white robe sipping my coffee at a glacial pace. I'd found I wasn't particularly fond of the stuff after my taste buds grew back but it gave me an excuse to hang around the kitchen every morning. As pathetic as it was watching my son perform his daily ritual with the toaster was about the only time I interacted with him, if it could be call interaction. I picked at the edge of a corner of the Formica. There was a little pile of the stuff I'd already pealed off sitting in the middle of the table. ^I'm *really* pathetic.^  
  
I shot another furtive glance at the stairs. I wasn't exactly sure how Alexander would react if he knew I was hanging around to watch him. The only problem was that he was and hour late. I knew I should do the motherly thing and go upstairs and kick him out of bed, but I'd never done it before. ^It's a wonder he even goes to school.^ I thought ruefully. ^I certainly wasn't going to make him go.^  
  
However I was trying to be his mother. I tugged on a bang. ^I should go upstairs and at least make sure he's not sick.^ Taking a deep breath in a futile attempt to breath in some courage I set my half full mug on the ruined table and unfolded my legs from underneath me. I noted absently that there was a crease from the wood chair edge on my ankle. The banister was covered in a flaking white paint, like everything in this house it was neglected and falling apart, several balustrades were missing or broken off. I didn't even know how or when. The steps beneath me were covered in a fading floral pattern or some sort of reddish design. Years of dirt and feet had worn it till it was hard to tell which and I couldn't even remember if the house had come with carpeting or if Anthony had taken it upon himself to 'fixup' the house as he had halfheartedly from time to time and carpeted the stairs. ^The evidence is pretty damning Bethany my girl. Yes, drugs do make you lose time.^  
  
I gave my bang another tug as I stood outside his door shifting from one bare foot to another trying to decide that 'yes now that I'm here I might as well go in'. With some surprise I noted that Alexander's door though riddled with scratches and scars like all the others in the house hung solidly on it's hinges and didn't even squeak as I pushed it open. As I shut it I discovered the inside contained three sets of locks. ^What reason would a boy have for needing so many locks?^ I shuddered at the implications and turned haunted eyes to the bundle of checker quilts on the bed across from me.  
  
I tore my eyes away settling my gaze on the floor. Shame filled me. The people I had let into our house, the man I had married, god damn it! What kind of mother was I? The empty Cheetos bags and dirty socks surrounding my feet filled my vision. ^I couldn't even keep a clean house.^ Tears leaked out of my eyes and rolled down my nose. It took me several minutes full of fist clenching silent recrimination to pull myself together. Sniffing I clumsily drug my sleeve across my eyes.  
  
^This isn't about me. This is about him. You're supposed to be checking to see if he's sick. Remember?^ My inner thoughts were scathing as I threw off my guilt. Steeling myself I traveled the length of the room to my son's bed careful not to step anywhere where the floor wasn't semi-visible for fear of breaking something. I stopped at the side of his bed hand hovering over the covers where I guessed his head was.  
  
"Alexander? Alexander are you sick?" I heard a muffled groan come from underneath the quilts. I pulled back his cover with a yank, "What-" I faltered when my son blinked up at me from under sleep tousled hair. His eyes were a familiar red on black. "-did you say?" I finished weakly 


	3. Truths

^I guess it's not just a suspicion, huh?^ I took a deep breath, this time more to calm my suddenly thunderous heartbeat than to find courage. I straightened my spine trying to create some distance between us as I came to grips with my revelation. My son gazed up at me at first confused then horror dawned on his features.  
  
He sat up abruptly spilling his covers haphazardly. "Mom.." He said beseechingly looking lost and a little terrified. I, on the other hand felt rather grateful that he was still willing to call me mom.  
  
I gave him a small pat on the hand nearest me. "I'm going to go call the school and tell them that you won't be going today." Head down so I could see where I could place my feet. I made my way across his room in a rather zigzag sort of way.  
  
The trip downstairs was a lot faster than the one up since I was not questioning my every step. I did realize as I hit the last stair and it gave its obligatory squeal that I was relieved Alexander wasn't Tony's son. ^That bastard didn't deserve him.^ I chuckled at myself. ^Me, bitter? Nooo.^  
  
The phone was in the living room sitting on the sofa end. The sofa itself was older than me for sure. A disgusting orange, burnt red, and yellow combination from the late forties. It was also covered in stains of various sizes and colors that I knew for sure I didn't want to know the name of their original substances. I grabbed the phone off its end. The phone was probably the only new thing in the entire house. The last had rung its last when Tony threw it against the wall. I sat down on the sofa, which was almost as uncomfortable to sit on as it was to look at, and bent over to reach under the it for the phonebook. I flipped quickly through it and found the local school's number. Wedging the phone between my ear and my shoulder I dialed it up.  
  
The phone was picked up almost immediately and a nasal voice full of boredom asked, "Yees?" I couldn't tell if the person on the other end was male or female.  
  
"Yes," I said. "Well, I'm calling in sick for my son, Alexander Harris, he's terribly ill and can't make it." I didn't really have a clue what I was doing since I'd never done it before. I wondered vaguely what Alexander had done for excuses in the past. The person on the other end quickly drew my mind away from such thoughts however.  
  
"*Of* coourse he is." The, what I now determined to be a, man drawled out sarcastically.  
  
I frowned. "What is *that* supposed to mean?" My voice was sharp and biting, an imitation of my mother's when she was sure someone was trying to get away with something.  
  
"Well, *Mrs.*," I almost snarled when I heard the mockery in his voice, "Harris your *son* most likely is faking it as he's a deadbeat slacker."  
  
Anger boiled beneath my skin. "Oh, really?" I said deceptively calmly.  
  
"Yes, really." The man said smarmily.  
  
My smile could have melted steel. "Well, I'll just have to tell the school board about your abusive and confrontational words Mr. ...?"  
  
"Snyder." There was a slam then the dial tone rang in my ear.  
  
I slammed my own phone down on its receiver and glared at it. "What a troll."  
  
"Mom?"  
  
I twisted around to see my son standing nervously behind me. He was wearing the same white t-shirt and blue and white-stripped boxers he's worn to bed. The only new addition were the sunglasses obscuring his eyes. ^Remy used to wear glasses like that. Said it cut down on the fights.^ My heart clenched a little as I came to grips with the rough future my son was going to face. "Why don't you sit down Alexander?"  
  
He shuffled past me and sat on the worn brown corduroy ribbed recliner the faced the sofa. As he sat he mumbled, "Xander. People call me Xander," sort of resigned as if he'd told me a hundred times and I just didn't listen.  
  
"Al-" I began then I saw him grimace, "Xander. I saw-"  
  
Al- ^Xander. I must remember to call him Xander.^ Xander leaned forward quickly his movements jerky and interrupted me in a rush, "Whatever you think you saw mom-," He sounded as if I was still wasted and he was gently trying to tell me that there really were no pink elephants in the bathroom.  
  
This time I interrupted him, "Your eyes." I said quietly but firmly. I was sober and even if I wasn't sure of what I'd seen his body language was very telling.  
  
Xander stopped mid gesture and collapsed back into the recliner and fiddled with his sunglasses. "My eyes." He said one part resigned and one part disgusted.  
  
Now I leaned forward jerkily. "Don't you dare." I hissed. "You're different that's all. You're nothing disgusting. *You* are *not* a freak!" I'd only dated Remy for a short while but I'd heard the yells and seen the flinches. He was good at hiding it but I could tell the Remy almost believed some of them. Though I couldn't see his eyes because of the glasses. I could tell by the stillness of his head and his slightly slack jaw Xander was staring at me in shock. I looked straight at the glasses that were shielding my son's eyes. "Your father was good at hiding it but it's not true that saying that 'sticks and stone may break my bones but words will never hurt me'. Words can break you too. On the inside. I won't have you believing them. *You* *are* *not* *disgusting*." Xander kept staring at me and I felt a blush start creeping up my cheeks at my little speech. I'd sounded rather motherly. I looked down at my robe and started playing with the tie ends feeling self-conscious.  
  
"My father? But Anthony.." I looked back up and took in my son's face. The bottom half looked rather confused and he waved his hand helplessly in front of it.  
  
"Isn't a mutant?" I finished when it was obvious that he couldn't. He looked a little shocked then choppily nodded. I was struck by how like his father that movement was, graceful yet no wasted motion. I took another deep breath, I was taking them a lot lately and I wasn't even inhaling something, "Well, that's because Anthony Harris isn't your father 


	4. Eyes

Eyes  
  
My son stared at me shocked and I had an overwhelming urge to go put the tea on. Which was perfectly ridiculous since I liked tea about as much as I liked coffee. ^I blame my mother for this. Darn Brits.^  
  
My son worked his jaw silently for a bit then ground out hoarsely, "I guess this means I really did deserve that F I got on my family tree project in fourth grade." I was rather impressed that he could talk coherently. "So who is he? Do you even know?" He spoke without accusation but it still stung. ^The truth hurts, doesn't it?^ I stifled my wounded pride or whatever it was that gave a twinge when Xander had spoken the truth.  
  
I kept my fingers busy playing with my robe tie as I forced a smile and nodded, "Amazingly enough yes. I met him before I started doing the heavy stuff." ^Thank you very much Anthony for introducing it to me.^ I knew I was being spiteful. I would have gotten around to it myself sooner or later. "His name is Remy Lebeau. I met him in New Orleans." My smile became a little more real as I looked into my son's sunglasses. "You have his eyes."  
  
Xander fiddled with his sunglasses again and shifted in his chair. "Does he know about me?"  
  
I shook my head violently. "*No*. Remy would never have-" I stopped unsure how to tell him about Remy. All I knew about him was what I had puzzled out from impressions. Remy was a mystery book that you had to read several times over to recognize all the subplots. Luckily I'd had several years to pull all the clues together.  
  
"Remy was a big believer in family." I said firmly. "If he'd known about you he would never have let me go." I reflected back on the man and the place I had known for such a short while. I knew that the dealings in New Orleans were often shady and that Remy's family was heavily involved in it. Anthony Harris's image flashed through my brain. ^Like there haven't been shady characters 'round here? Pleeease.^ However I didn't Xander to think that his real father belonged to the mob or some such thing which was basically what I'd come to realize Remy's family must be. I wanted Xander to like his father. So slightly torn I continued, "And if he'd found out about you.." I looked straight into his eyes. "I'm sure you would be living with him and Anthony and I would not be in much position to argue." I phrased it carefully enough that my statement could be taken several ways. By the way he quirked his head I was pretty sure he got the idea anyway.  
  
"Oh." He said steadily and started playing with his sunglasses again.  
  
I glanced at the nervous fingers fiddling with the black sideband then at the black reflective lenses shielding my son's eyes. "Why don't you take those off?" I said gently. I shifted slightly on the sofa and I suppressed my urge to reach over and take them off myself. "You're not going to scare me." I reassured him. 


	5. Hidden

My son's fingers stilled then dropped away from his face. A crooked grin twisted his mouth. "I guess not, huh?" I couldn't help but smile back at his wry comment. However he shook his head in refusal. "Still. I can't. I get migraines when my eyes are like this." He gestured to one of the three the open windows that lined the living letting light shine in through their dirty smudged glass. "The sunlight aggravates them."  
  
"Oh." I repeated my son's earlier exclamation at a loss for what else to say. Thinking quickly I tried to come up with something, anything to say. A thought flittered through my brain and I grabbed it like a drowning woman. "How long has this been going on?"  
  
Xander's face scrunched up in thought. "Uh, a couple years?" I frowned. ^I know I was really out of it. But was I that out of it? Or is he just really good at hiding?^ Xander hastily added. "Don't worry. When the migraine fades I'll change them back. It's just not a good idea to force the issue." My frown deepened. ^He sounds ashamed again.^  
  
"Don't worry, honey. I'm not mad. Take your time." I said soothingly forgoing the lecture I felt building inside me. ^I'm going to break him of that shame or my name isn't Elizabeth Matilda Pryce.^ I blinked in surprise at my internal use of my full, well full maiden, name. ^Hmm, I didn't know I still had that rich snob in me.^  
  
"I'm just wondering how I missed this." ^Among other things.^  
  
"Well mom- I did try and avoid you as much as possible." My focus snapped out of the past and back onto his face as he pointed out the truth ruthlessly. There were shades of regret in his voice but I got the overall impression that he wanted to get a little of his own back.  
  
I smiled weakly, "I can't say as I blame you." I looked closely at my son. He wasn't a little boy that could forget all the things that I had done or hadn't done to him. He was a grown man of… I did the math quickly in my head, 17 years. A junior in high school for Christ's sake! Next year he would graduate and leave. Probably without a second thought in my direction they way things stood now. I was his mother but obviously he didn't need mothering. Maybe I could try for his friend? I straightened a little at the prospect. I didn't know really how to be a mother. I glanced at my son, who was looking a mite nervous at the continued silence surrounding us, and admitted that truth in every fiber of myself. However I was a good friend. I snorted silently. ^It's just that lately my friends have all been drug heads hitting me up for money.^  
  
"Do you want me to tell you about your father?" I asked suddenly breaking the building silence and offering a tentative olive branch of friendship to my estranged son. 


	6. Light

Light  
  
I watched my son nod cautiously and relaxed with relief. Now I had to tell the truth. But if we were going to be friends we had to be able to confide in each other, which meant gaining his trust, and that meant telling the truth. "I didn't love him." I smiled. "No, but I *seriously* lusted after him." The corner of my son's mouth lifted at that. "Luckily for me his girlfriend, Belle, had just called it quits on him. I learned later that they did that every other month." I shook my head at the memory. "I didn't really care. I pounced on him." I settled back into the sofa, getting as comfortable as possible on its itchy fabric, and folded my legs under me in my favorite position. "We were together for three steamy weeks, and despite what people might have thought of him, we didn't spend them all in bed. Remy was the eternal gentleman. A scruffy one true, but he could charm the shirt off your back and leave you thanking him for it."  
  
My eyes settled on the ugly fake Picasso that hung between two of the windows on the wall my son had his back to. ^I wonder if he did that on purpose? Put his back to the source of the most light?^ I shook the thought off and focused once more on my son's face. He looked sort of like a deer caught in the headlights. There was a hungry edge to it though, as if he was grabbing the tidbits of information I could give him and consuming them to fill an empty space in his heart instead of his stomach. I'd seen the look on his father's face, but usually when he really *was* hungry. "You look so much like him." I tugged on one of my dark brown bangs giving him a careless smile. "You've got my hair though. His was a auburn color that women loved to run their fingers through." I tried to drudge up something else to tell him but I was quickly running out of information. "He'd be, um, about 34 now. I met him when I was 20 and he'd just turned 18. His father's name was Jean-Luc and he had a brother named Henri."  
  
I thought hard about the days I'd spent with Remy but nothing else came to mind. I sighed. ^I'm out.^ "I sorry honey but that's all I've got. I'm pretty sure that he doesn't even live in New Orleans anymore. His father wanted him to follow in his footsteps, though I haven't a clue what type of shoes his father wore, and while Remy didn't say anything... I got the impression that he was trying to think about that as little as possible and hoping to dodge the bullet."  
  
"That's all you know?" Xander asked. His disappointment seemed to roll off him.  
  
I shrugged. "Your father was very mysterious, it was part of his charm." A memory struck me between the eyes with the force of a brick. "Oh, I almost forgot. His power, he could blow things up." ^It's no wonder I forgot. He only did it that one time.^ I narrowed my eyes and stared at my son. "What can you do?"  
  
Xander shifted a little nervously in the old corduroy chair making swishing sounds in the sudden silence. "I, uh..." 


	7. Fuchsia

Fuchsia  
  
A breeze caressed my face blowing my hair into my eyes. I pulled the still whipping hair back, spitting the few strands out that had decided to get eaten. For a minute I thought that I'd just left a window open and was annoyed with myself for letting such a piddling thing interrupt the serious moment I was sharing with my son. Then the wind slapped me. I was knocked sideways, getting a snoot full of sofa. Therefore I was motivated to get myself up quickly. I pushed myself up and was prepared to fight the sudden tornado force winds to stay up only to find the air was dead. I peered over at the windows, which were shut, then noted that the crap that filled the room had shifted and/or fallen over. My eyes settled once more on my son, who I noticed looked decidedly un-windblown, and raised an eyebrow. "So you're a interior decorator?"  
  
"Yes," he said eyes twinkling and scanned the room thoughtfully, "I'm thinking shades of fuchsia for the living room?" I just about melted in relief when Xander smiled his first genuine smile. The tension had eased out of his frame and I could feel the companionship between us strengthening. My answering smile was so wide I could feel the seldom-used muscles start to ache.  
  
He shook his head and became serious again. I watched him carefully and was relieved that he did not become apprehensive and nervous again as well. "Seriously, I control the air."  
  
I felt my eyebrow heading for my hairline again. "So you knocked me over on purpose?" I asked jokingly and was surprised when he blushed. ^I don't think I've ever seen him do that before.^  
  
"Well maybe control is too strong a word..." I could tell he was embarrassed but instead of looking down or away this time he looked straight at me and covered up his emotions with a bashful face and a one- liner. ^This is different. Wait a minute-^  
  
"You mean you've had you're powers for two years and you haven't learned how to control them?" My shock colored my voice. He looked down and shifted. It hit me like a thunderbolt. ^He was ashamed of his mutantcy. That's what's with the shifting.^ I frowned unsure how to handle this. As his mother I should harp and lecture and basically kick him in the butt til he sees reason. I sighed internally. ^No way in the world that would work. My mother tried that for years. It's genetic.^ Reason could smack me upside the head and I'd just keep on walking; and I had. I learned it was a trait I'd inherited from my very-married-to-a-woman-who-was-not-my-mother father and it appeared to have passed down to my son. ^I hope he doesn't getting in as many dangerous situations as I did.^  
  
I gave another sigh, this time out loud, and shook my head ruefully. "I seem to have spotted what you got from me. To stubborn for your own good, huh?" My son looked back up and I could tell by his thoughtful expression he was thinking of his past and all the things he done that if he'd had a lick of self-preservation he would have run screaming from.  
  
An alarm started beeping in the kitchen and I winced. With all the revelations flying through the air I'd completely forgotten. I patted my son on his knee then unfolded myself from the sofa. "I'm sorry honey. You'll have to tell me all about it but I have to go see a lawyer." 


	8. Money

Money  
  
"A lawyer?" Xander said incredulously.  
  
I chuckled at the pole-axed look on my son's face. While my actual reason for going to see Mr. Rochard wasn't pleasant it was almost worth it just to see that particular emotion gracing my son's face. ^He looks just like my father with that look on his face.^ Though I'd never met my old man he'd been a minor lord and I'd looked seen him on the television several times.  
  
"My mother may have been a sucker for a pretty face," I reflected briefly on this other genetic trait, or flaw in certain situations, I'd inherited then continued, "but she wasn't a fool." ^No, she wasn't a fool. She was smart enough to get out of England and away from her 'shocked' relatives. You think none of them ever had a child out of wed-lock.^ "I have to pass two years worth of drug tests before I can claim my inheritance." With that said I carefully navigated my way out of the living room.  
  
The localized windstorm that my son had produced had thrown several pieces of what loosely could be termed 'objects' but were closer in composition to garbage in my way. Losing my balance I my foot got snagged on a cap, one of the ones with tubes and cup holders that had somehow survived Tony's last Superbowl party three years ago, probably by hiding under other junk, and swung around trying to find it again. I landed quite solidly on my butt, which sent a flash of pain up through my tailbone and all along my spine. ^I just can't seem to get a break.^ I attempted to get to my feet and winced at the pain coming from my rear-end. ^Maybe I shouldn't have said' break'.^ I sighed and shook my head at my own stupidity.  
  
Suddenly a hand was hovering in front of my face. "Here mom. Let me help you." His words were softly spoken, but oh, I could tell that was only an effort to keep from laughing. I looked from Xander's hand to his face and briefly flirted with idea of jerking him to the floor as well. Especially when I saw his lips twitching. However, I *really* wanted to get up off the floor, which I suspected harbored things better left unconsidered. I grabbed his hand, ironically what had started this whole thing off, and was quickly swung to my feet. ^He's stronger than I thought.^  
  
"So... " My son drawled as I wiped dirt off the back of my robe in an effort to do... Actually I wasn't quite sure why I did it. Habit, I guess? "This inheritance would be... the world's largest collection of used gum?" I swung my head back around, I'd been considering the job I'd done on my cleaning my back end, and searched my son's face. I found only wry amusement and a sarcastic smile.  
  
"You really think that?" I said unable to keep the shocked tone from my voice. He suddenly looked uncertain and I realized that he really did. "Didn't you ever wonder how we could afford anything? Tony hardly ever worked?" Xander tilted his head and gave a little frown. I just shook my head. He was a teenager after all, why would he question where the money came from. "I've been getting a monthly allowance ever since my mother died. Your f-" I stopped and winced. I'd been pretty good at remembering that Tony wasn't Xander's real father but 17 years of habit had caught me eventually. I swallowed the bitter taste that had flooded my mouth. "The only reason Anthony had to work at all is because drugs are expensive."  
  
*** For everybody asking when Gambit is going to make an appearance.... I don't know. This whole story is ad-libbed and I hardly know what I'm doing one moment to the next. He will show up, eventually. 


	9. Part II:Xander

Part II: Xander  
  
I shut my eyes behind my sunglasses. This day was friggin' unbelievable. It didn't approach the night I found out about vampires, not on the scare-o- meter anyway, but-my brain felt like it someone had stirred it around with a hot poker then pulled it out my nose. Or maybe that was the migraine talking. I reached up to rub my temple.  
  
My mom was gone. Off to see a lawyer about a load of money I hadn't had a clue existed. God, she'd changed. The image of her leaving passed through my mind. She'd looked really elegant in a yellow sundress and white hat. I'd never seen her look like that. She also looked so much younger. ^She joked with me.^ My whole life my memories of her were of her turning her back to me, and silence. Warmth spread through me. I smiled. ^She didn't care.^ I fiddled with my sunglasses.  
  
It's funny. The first I heard about mutants were rumors. Everyone had a friend of a friend of a friend with a second cousin who was a mutant. I figured they were myths, invented so girls could scare themselves silly at slumber parties. That's what's funny. Myths. Seems that the only real myths are the myths themselves, cause myths don't really exist. Therefore they are myths cause myths aren't supposed- ^I've known Willow-babble was catching for years.^  
  
I took a deep breath and let out the fear I'd been suppressing. In all those stories the mutant was never the good guy. When I first figured out I was a mutant I freaked. With eyes like mine I figure, damn, I had to be screwed. I practically looked like a demon. Actually the first time I lookin the mirror and saw those red on blacks staring back at me I thought I'd been possessed again. Only this time by some demon instead of a hyena spirit, except I was in charge of my body and didn't feel a sudden hankering to eat my parents. I spent that night locked in my room all three locks locked and a chair under the doorknob. Kind of silly since I was a little more worried about me getting out. The next morning I woke up my eyes were normal again and I went into some serious denial, I had plenty of practice at that skill. Deny, deny, deny. I denied my fath- the bastard hitting me, my mother's negligence, and my own feelings of inadequacy. My eyes changed a dozen or so more times before I admitted what I was, even I couldn't deny with quite that much.  
  
That didn't mean that I was going to admit it to anybody else though. I didn't want to become one of those urban legends told at slumber parties. I helped fight demons after all. I didn't want to get lumped in with them. So I never used my powers, when I figured out what they *were*, and waited out he spells when my eyes changed. Hope springs eternal I guess cause I hoped no one would figure it out. I never wanted to see the disgust I saw on the faces of people discussing mutants turned my way. My mother really surprised me. Not only did she give me a lecture, the first one I can remember coming from her, she came down on the side of the mutants. The closest I'd ever heard to that before was pity for them. She didn't think I was freak and she wasn't disgusted by me.  
  
I sighed and got up from the faded brown chair I'd been sitting in for lord knows how long. I could feel the ridges on the undersides of my legs from the strips that patterned the chair. My bare feet slid easily over the flat balding trash littered carpeting of the living room. I was better at navigating it than my mother and made it to the kitchen without landing on my butt. The secret was in knowing the terrain, even with everything shifted around after my little display earlier. After years of practice sneaking around the house I can navigate in the dark, over sleeping drunks, and around partying. ^I wish that skill would translate to slaying. I always sound like a herd of elephants in the woods. ^  
  
Once my feet hit the cool tile of the kitchen I relaxed. The kitchen was always my refuge. I'd been a little unnerved lately at the amount of time my mom had been spending in it. She never spent time in the kitchen before she quit drinking and doing drugs. Cooking, hah, my parent's food came from the Chinese place and was still eaten three days later out of the take out cartons in front of the TV.  
  
I grabbed a bag of Oreos out of the cabinet full of Mac and Cheese boxes, one of the things *I* cook. In fact I kind of thought of that cabinet as mine, it was the only one with anything really in it. I checked once and the others had cans old enough that rust was starting to form. I slid over to the fridge and grabbed the milk jug, which was next to a small colony of Chinese takeout boxes. I gave them a little salute and dumped my stuff on the table then maneuvered around a chair heading for a mug. There was actually a pretty good selection to choose from sitting on the counter. I picked up the one with Willy Coyote on it. I always felt a certain kinship with the guy. Back at the table I plopped down on the flimsy aluminum pipe chair. The only one of the mismatched chairs, some I was sure were even from different decades, which surrounded in the kitchen table that had any semblance of cushioning left. I poured myself a generous amount of milk, almost overflowing the cup, and reached for a cookie. Hand in bag I noticed the pile of Formica sitting in the middle of the table. That made me smirk. ^And parents are always telling you not to do things like that.^ I frowned a little and took a bite of my cookie. ^Except it turns out I only have *a* parent.^  
  
I sighed again and rubbed my temple as the chocolate and cream of the Oreo lingered on my tongue. ^At least that Midrin( works.^ The migraine medicine was kicking in and I was just feeling whispers of pain now. It was new stuff that my doctor had prescribed. He was the same guy I'd go to with my broken bones and bruised ribs. He ran the free clinic and never asked any questions and I never offered any answers but he'd patched me since I was eight. I lifted my sunglasses up a fraction and winced at the sudden brightness. Quickly I slid them back down. ^Not quite yet.^ Another irony. I live in California, but I only wear sunglasses when I've got a migraine. ^I wonder if my father gets them.^ They only strike after the shit hits the fan. My own personal version of the shakes I guess. A concept I just recently learned when I was possessed *again*. ^What do I have a sign on my back that says 'Possess me, I'm easy?^  
  
Solider guy was a lot better than the pack leader of the hyenas but- God, I wasn't me. That guy had seen things, things that were too close to what I'd only half seen when helping Buffy. That's what set this off. Yesterday was a definite shit storm. That's only part of it though, he's lingering. Shit storm, that's something he would have said. It's creeping me out. Maybe it's because the fatigues weren't from Ethan's, whatever the reason he's still there, behind my eyelids. However.. he'll probably come in handy trying to find daddy dearest. 


	10. Decisions, Decisions

Decisions, Decisions  
  
My sunglasses were now residing on the table. I'd placed them unfolded around the pile of Formica making a semi moat. I shut my eyes and cleared my mind, ignoring the last whispers of my migraine. I visualized my eyes as they were now sculpting them in the black velvety emptiness I'd created inside my mind. I imagined the red on black fading away revealing the white on blue that I had been born with. My real eyes pricked and tingled as they gradually reflected the change to their replicas. When in my mind's eye my eyes were normal I opened my physical ones. The room looked dull without the crispness that accompanied my other eyes.  
  
I tilted my head back and gazed at the brown water spotted ceiling. I certainly was relieved that Anthony Harris wasn't my father, though in truth I had stopped thinking of him in that way long ago. Biology just severed the final tie for me. Still all I knew about the real guy who'd given me life was second hand knowledge that I wasn't positive I could trust. I knew I was being harsh but- 17 years is a long time. I snorted. ^That and the fact that till a couple days ago my mother talked to fairies while sipping from a bottle.^  
  
My mother had never gotten angry while out on her vacations from reality. She was prone to hallucinations though. I still to wonder sometimes, especially since I found out what goes on in our lovely little burg, if the things she'd talk about might actually be real. As a kid I didn't know they weren't. Part of my clown/loser label was earned because I got confused regarding simple everyday things that kids with normal parents already 'knew'. I don't know what makes it so easy for me to forgive her and not Anthony Harris. By today's standards, and my own, she was a lousy parent. But I loved her. I always did. She hurt me in plenty of ways but nothing she'd done had ripped away my trust and feelings of security. When I thought of the guy who'd filled the father role in my life all I was a mass of dark emotions; black, purple, and yellow-green surrounded thoughts of him, like the bruises he'd hand out when ever he could get his fist up, along with an angry red that pulsated with hate and fear. I never wanted to touch him or for him to touch me. It always felt like he was cutting me and numbing me at the same time whenever our skin met. The man held no place in my heart except for the hole he'd punched through it taking my innocence with him. My mother on the other hand was the faded pink of regret and the pale blue of dreaminess mixed with the lime green I always thought of as sickness.  
  
I looked back down at the table and all of its litter and sighed. Spending so much time with a mother on drugs as a child had definitely taught me some rather strange ways to rationalize my world. ^I think of feelings as colors, as if I could actually see them. How crazy is that?^  
  
My questionable sanity aside I wasn't sure if I wanted to find this Remy Lebeau. My mother obviously thought well of him, but she wasn't too good a judge of people. I'd just gotten rid of one bastard. Did I really want another? In my experience parents weren't good for much. Jesse's had basically been a mirror image of my own while Willow's treated her like a case study. Even Buffy's mother was too wrapped up in her own life to notice the danger her daughter was in and her father was about as absentee a parent as my own had turned out to be. Therefore if I did track down this Remy character, what good would it do me? I was too old for catch.  
  
^Maybe I should just forget about him. Leave well enough alone?^ My mom flashed through my mind. Not the stoned apathetic person she'd been for so long but the cheerful sober woman who'd left me stunned. For the first time things were looking up. So what if I had a army veteran's memories floating around in my already problematic head, so what if half of my genes were from some guy I didn't even know, so friggin' what if Buffy was too obsessed with Deadboy to realize she was going to get staked in the back. I'd looked at my mother and saw my mom, a woman I'd been hoping to catch a glimpse of all my life. ^Maybe I should take what I can get.^ 


	11. When Nobody Else Will Do

When Nobody Else Will Do  
  
^Come on Xander you can do this.^ I stared at the computer in front of me and called on all of the skills Willow had drummed into my head. School is easy enough to blow off but when the Willomester wants you to learn something you learn it or you're subjected to the Resolve Face of Doom! I chuckled at the good memories as my fingers zipped over the keyboard. I was hacking into the City Hall records for New Orleans, or at least trying to. I felt a sweat drop roll down my back creating an icy trail. ^Damn this is harder without Wills.^ Before I'd always had the master hacker backing me up and I never realized just how great having her hovering over my shoulder was. I was almost in when a firewall popped up and toasted my ass. I slummed my head sliding down the computer screen with a soft squeal. I gazed straight into its neon brightness and moaned. ^I was so close.^  
  
The line that I had never heard with my own ears drifted through my mind in a gruff voice that sounded of whiskey and cigarettes.  
  
I winced. ^Oh, shut up.^ I told the memory fragment. Then peeled my forehead off the screen and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed my little melodrama. But Sunnydale Wilkinson's Memorial Library was just as crowded as when I'd first come in. The crowd consisting of Mrs. Shipley the librarian who I could see was still asleep on her desk surrounded by piles of newspapers that towered over her head. ^Now that also brings back fond memories.^ I saw the ghost of Jesse smiling and doing his victory dance in front of the computer to my right and a smiling Willow watching him from her chair and a younger Mrs. Shipley wake with a snort and yell for quiet. I shook my head to clear it and they faded away.  
  
I focused back on the screen and cursed. "Se fecher pas mal." #damn it# I knew my accent was horrible but what did you expect going from second hand knowledge gleamed from a guy who used cartoons learn the language in the first place? The French words still slipped out with an ease that would have shocked my French teacher into the aneurysm he always grumbled I was trying to give him. He'd always proclaimed in the loudest voice possible, usually accompanied by more colorful words than the ones I'd just used, that the only way I'd learn anything was if someone cracked open my skull and physically inserted the knowledge. I smiled to myself. ^Close, but no cigar for le faux Parisian baudet.^ #the fake Parisian jackass# The closest he ever got to Paris was a cast.  
  
Which was beside the point. I couldn't believe how hard it was to hack into the records I was after. ^The people in New Orleans must be more paranoid than Mulder!^ I'd run into some high end protections and this was the third time I'd been shut out. I was pretty sure I'd managed to keep whoever was guarding New Orleans from noticing my attempts, I'd been using subtly and not brute force because I didn't have the skill to escape a pro's attacks, but I wasn't sure I could keep that up. In fact I was sure I couldn't. I was way out of my minor leagues.  
  
I needed major leagues. I needed Willow. I winced as I started shutting down the computer. That meant I had to tell her. ^Oh yeah, I can see that conversation. Wills I need your help to hack into the New Orleans City hall records. Why? Because, you see Anthony Harris isn't my real dad, aren't you happy for moi? Anyway my real papa lived there and I want to learn a bit more about the man before I show up on his doorstep claiming I'm his kid. How do I know this guy's really my dad? Well you see he's a mutant and so am I. How long have I known? Oh, not long just a couple days. Why didn't I tell you? Um, because.^ That's about when I'd run out of things to say, and it didn't even cover if she asked how long I'd know I was a mutant. Sheesh. My guilt trip would become a permanent vacation. I might as well ask Angel to put the bite on me. A wounded Willow out puppy-dog eyes the puppies.  
  
I'm not good at expressing how I'm feeling. It probably stems from having parents who didn't give a rat's ass what I was feeling. The truth is I didn't know how to tell her. I'd scare up the nerve to do it but the words just wouldn't leave my mouth. I justified it by telling myself she had enough to handle what with the demons popping up every other night and the fighting for the world.  
  
I wasn't truly afraid she'd reject me. She's my best bud and she'd stuck behind me when I was disgusting to everybody else already by just being a loser. Willow is one of the most compassionate people in the world. But deep below all my trust and love I can't help my fear. People hate and fear mutants even if they don't really believe in them. My fear's an insidious thing. It creeps into everything, even my relationship with Willow, the only real thing I could trust as I grew up. I try and banish it with jokes, most of the time it works and for the rest I just quiver in my booties and hope the bad thing will go away. The only way I could see to dig myself out of this one though was to tell her. ^Well I'm doing the shaking thing, and the joking definitely not working so that leaves.Yep, door number three, fess up and hope the shit hits the fan in a way that keeps the projectiles to a minimum.^ 


	12. When You Gotta Go

When You Gotta Go  
  
I got up from the orange plastic torture device that masqueraded as a chair and headed for the stain glass doors that were the exit. The library looked more like a cathedral than a library with its lofty vaulted ceilings, marble columns, stained glass windows running down the walls, and Italian tiling creating mosaics on the floor. It must have taken a fortune to build. ^But, they saved all that money on the chairs.^ I twisted my neck to crack my back. The loud snap of my vertebrate slipping back into place made my smile more of a wince. The whole place was a waste of money. It was even more elaborate and foreboding than the high school library, which I'd always thought was a little too fancy for a bunch of school kids who couldn't even find it without looking at a map. And ironically this overblown fantastic show piece of government spending got even less use. Despite being one of the first places in town to have computers, ones that were regularly updated even, nobody wanted to go in it. ^Can you blame them? It feels like..^ I stopped at the door and looked back into the deserted building. ^It feels like a tomb waiting to be filled.^  
  
I shivered and stepped out into fresh air of day. For a moment I just stood out on the steps and soaked up the sunlight. I miss it sometimes. Working with Buffy I hardly see daylight anymore. First I'm trapped inside school with its artificial florescent lighting, then I go home and sleep. I catch a few hours then I'm up and patrolling into the long hours of the night with only the moon to light my path. Just standing under the sun felt so good. It warmed my bones. At least the sun wasn't completely lost to me. I don't know how the vampires can stand it. Maybe someday I should ask Deadboy. I grinned imagining his face if I actually tried having a civil conversation with him. ^Hmm, I should. Might put him back in his grave..^ I opened my eyes and the world was tinted blue.  
  
I hopped down the stairs leading into the library stopped at the bottom and looked at my watch. It was almost seven. ^Wait for my execution or get it over with?^ I mulled over it as I walked only to look up and find I was standing if front of Willow's house. ^I guess the governor's not going to call.^ 


	13. Psychiatrists

Psychiatrists  
  
Sheila Rosenberg opened the door after I rang the doorbell. As soon as she saw me she put on her fake "everything's alright" smile. It made her features look more like a mask than usual. Her red hair had started gaining artificial help years ago and her face enjoyed, or more correctly employed, that same help. She probably was still pretty when she wasn't in her psychiatrist role, but I wasn't sure since she never left her job at the door. "Xander," She said in her soothing patented doctor voice. "It's so good to see you. Willow's up in her room, I'm sure she'll be glad to see you dear." She stepped back to let me in and I quickly passed her. I noticed she didn't ask how I was. More of her free psychiatry, Anthony Harris had been bumming around town for weeks. Even the perpetually oblivious Rosenbergs had to have heard about it. She probably thought I was broken up by my "father's abandonment". It was times like these that made me wonder how Willow grew up to be the person she is.  
  
Her parents were like automatons. They went through all the motions but there wasn't any real life in them anymore. All you had to do was look around their house and you could see that. Everything was tastefully decorated in the styles that were recommended to welcome yet still look professional, and they just made it worse. The cheerful colors and paintings on the walls came straight from a catalogue and were cleaned weekly by a maid. There was nothing to show that anybody "lived" in the house. I was so relieved when I reached Willow's room. I know from past experience that there I would find intelligent life. I took a sort of perverse pleasure in things not being spotless. Too much cleanliness made me think of that saying. "Cleanliness maybe next to Godliness, but more often it's a sign they're coo-coo."  
  
I stood in her doorway bouncing on the balls of my feet. I looked at her sitting cross-legged on her bed all rumpled in her long white and purple- stripped nightshirt and stilled. A smile tried to force it's way into being on my face. She looked like a little girl who'd just woken from her nap. To complete the image she rubbed her eye with her fist and yawned wide enough for me to see the filling she'd gotten in fourth grade. I remember she was so scared of the dentist and I had to reassure her. I showed her all my dental work but in the end had to hold her hand all the way to the waiting room. She cried as they bustled her away and so I convinced the dentist to let me stay with her. That's when I learned if you talk loudly enough and insistently enough you can get away with just about anything, especially if you your speech doesn't make much in the way of sense.  
  
Suddenly I didn't feel so bad.  
  
"Hi, Xander. What's up?" 


	14. Part III:Willow

Part III: Willow  
  
I was still sleepy cause I'd gone to bed only an hour ago. I know it's a little weird, a high school girl going to bed before she absolutely has to? But fighting the good fight requires drastic measures. Like getting over your fear of heights so you're able to get out of the house by climbing the tree outside your window, and giving up evening television. However I was aware enough to be surprised by Xander showing up here, now. After all he was going to see me in a couple hours for patrol. Hence, my questioning of his motives.  
  
He just stood there for a moment and I took the time to have a good look at him. He looked. tensey? His Chinese imitation red dragon patterned shirt was unbuttoned and hung open to show the white tee underneath and he wore black jeans over combat boots, clothes I could have sworn were practically unwrinklable, yet they looked very crinkly. His whole body seemed to vibrate in place; he looked like a racehorse getting ready to bolt. ^I don't think I've ever seen him like this.^ Deep in my stomach fear began to churn.  
  
"Xander?" I asked worried. I didn't move afraid that if I did he'd really bolt. I just kept my eyes locked on him trying to keep him in here, to get him to tell me what was bothering him, by pure force of will. I looked into his eyes and saw doubt, something that took my breath away. Xander is one of those people who makes decisions then lives with the consequences. He doesn't think; he dives in. Unlike me who comes up with a thousand things before hand that can go wrong, one of the reasons I've got stage fright bad enough to kill a field mouse.  
  
Xander closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm a mutant." He said laboriously without even opening his eyes. "My father's a mutant and I just found out who he really is. I need you to help me find him."  
  
I've known Xander since kindergarten. He was the guy who pulled me out of the sandbox and dusted me off after Timmy the playground bully pushed me in it after calling me a sissy poopy face. I was crying and he said that while Timmy might now more about poop than anyone my face more like a strawberry with it all red and brown spotty. It wasn't as clever as the sophisticated one-liners he'd one day throw out but it made me stop. When Cordelia became the queen of the school and judged me the lowest of the low he was there to dry my tears again. He did the Snoopy dance in my living room every Thanksgiving. He held me the night after Jessie died and I collapsed unable to deny the truth any more. He was always there. I loved him, more if I was truthful, than my own family. And I certainly trusted him more than any human being on the planet.  
  
So I blinked added this new piece of information to the collage of Xander facts that made him who he was and made a mental note for some time to get hysterical later. Xander opened his eyes and just looked at me begging me silently to say something that would make everything the same. ^Danger Will Rosenson! Danger!^ 


	15. Tell Me Again

Tell Me Again  
  
I mock frowned going for a little creasage. "How come all my friends get to have superpowers?" Xander's jaw dropped. It looked really cute hanging down slightly like that. I shoved my 'not friends' thoughts aside. This was definitely not the time. Then he got over his shock and his bottom jaw fought gravity and won. His mouth closed with a click. ^And I thought that only happened in stories?^ The tension released from his body and he was once again the loose guy our gym teacher had dubbed "flapper". Although lately what with the slaying and the running for our lives and the fighting for them too he'd been gaining buffness. I slapped my thoughts down again. ^Not going there. Be happy that Xander is a happy Xander.^ I focused my eyes on my friend. ^See happy Xander. That's good.^ Inwardly I smiled. Crisis averted.  
  
He gave me a mischievous smile. "I don't know little Ms. Elite. Didn't you gloat for weeks after you helped crash that Gibson." I blushed. I thought maybe he'd forgotten about that. I was young and full of pride at the time. I'd bent the guys ears backward reveling over our victory over The Plague.  
  
I jerked my head towards my open door and thanked God my parents weren't nearby. They might not realize what I was doing with my computers but they had good memories. The thing about the Plague was on the news for weeks. I turned back to my smirking friend and recognized the dig as what it was.  
  
"I only helped a teensy bit." I said holding my thumb and pointer finger apart about a centimeter. Determined to change the subject I asked, "So what can you do? I heard all mutants have powers." I frowned again. "Hey, how did you find out you were one?" Another thought occurred to me. "And how did you find out your father was one? What's his name anyway? And why do you need me to help you find him? Tracking a person down shouldn't be too hard. You should be able to do it yourself. Have you tried yet?" I skidded to a halt when I saw Xander's look. It was his, slow down Wills you're going a warp speed and breathing would be good, look. I took a deep breath and gave him a sheepish smile. "Well?" 


	16. Strangle Me

Strangle Me  
  
"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!" Xander chortled waggling his eyebrows.  
  
I snorted. Sunnydale had had its own British Invasion and Xander had reacted in true Xander fashion. He became a Monty Python fan. "Don't make me got out my thumbscrews and rack." I threatened him shaking my finger.  
  
Xander sobered and a sober Xander was a rare bird indeed. "Wills." He looked straight into my eyes visibly clinging to me. "I. my eyes changed. That's how I figured it out. They were this creepy red on black. I- I didn't look human." Xander took a deep shuddering breath. He looked so scared and broken. My instincts poked me and I didn't analyzed them. I got up and wrapped my arms around him. I felt like I was trying to hold him together. He shuddered in my arms and I rested my ear over his heart. It sounded like a hummingbird it was going so fast. His arms slowly came up and surrounded me. Suddenly I couldn't remember why we stopped doing this. It was like after Jessie died we never did more than give a pat on the shoulder. There was none of the feeling that had been there before. It was like we thought if we touched it was going to break something. I felt loved and warm in these arms but I could feel his soul deep fear with every shake. I squeezed him trying to project my own trust and love back.  
  
"Shh, shh." I whispered into the cotton of his white tee.  
  
He strangled a sob but I heard its death throes. "I thought," He paused in the middle of his sentence for an equally strangled giggle then went on in his breathless and semi-hysterical voice, "I was over this."  
  
I started rocking gently. "It's alright Xander."  
  
"Ah, Wills my life's the shits." I felt wetness seeping through my hair. "Soldier boy's still running around in my head, popping up at weird times," ^Oh.^ My mind spun at what that could mean.  
  
"My father's probably part of the mob or something, judging by the quality of his computer security," ^My.^  
  
"And best of all I'm a mutant freak who's been so scared of himself for *two years*, that's right, that's how long I've know, I can't even control my powers," ^God.^ I winced 


	17. Well, That's Interesting

Well, That's Interesting (Now Let's Blow Something UP)  
  
^I guess I'm going to have to get a little more creative in my crashing of FOH websites.^ I was a mess and I knew it. Two years. He'd known for two *years*! He hadn't told me for two years. He hadn't even tried to figure out what he could do. He'd hidden himself. For two years! I knew he was the master of repression but this was just, ugh! And why did he do it? Because the world had convinced him he was a monster. That he'd be hated and reviled by everyone even those that loved him. He was ashamed! Ashamed of what he was for two years! I glared at the screen of my lab top. Xander had left twenty minutes ago looking wrung out having spilled the whole story and cried some more on my head. I was trying to make some headway with the New Orleans City hall records but I couldn't get past my anger and disgust.  
  
My *friend* my best friend could control the air. That stuff I was breathing in, the little tinny particles that touched just about everything on the planet. It was mind bogging. With control over something like that he could be more deadly than a dozen vampires. What if he got lost control and sucked the air out of lungs of the people around him? What if he concentrated all the weight of the surrounding air in one spot? He could squash somebody flat. Icky bloody mess and badness. And it could happen easily. Xander admitted he had no real control. It was all those bigots' faults.  
  
I'm Jewish. I may not be a devout follower of the religion but as a member of the 'race' I sure as shooting have heard it all. People are all "oh, we're so sorry about what happened to you in WWII" but they don't look beyond the hyped up slaughter of 6 million Jews. What about all the gypsies? The gays? The old? The mentally infirm? The poor people who just happened to be twins? People get wrapped up one truth and don't look at any of the others. And they don't really learn anything either. How may people realize that Americans, the "good guys", kept thousands of Japanese in "interment camps"? Why? Because they looked different. You didn't see them putting Germans in camps. Pufft.  
  
Bigots make me so mad! I hate them! Does that make me one? Maybe but I don't care. All I know it that they scared my best friend. A guy who'd face the creatures of the night, things that wanted to rip him into itty-bitty pieces and then eat him and that was if they were nice, and from them he doesn't run, well not usually. But they made him run from himself. Maybe I was over sympathizing but the whole idea made my heart ache.  
  
I gave up. I closed what little work I'd started on the hack job and started writing viruses. A truly evil smile spread across my face but I didn't notice. I was going to play and they were going to pay. 


	18. Part IV: Xander

Warning: Seven Days Crossover ahead.  
  
Part IV: Xander Night Terrors  
  
"*No!*" My legs were trapped. I fought, howling inside. My kicks did nothing against the fabric that slipped around my legs. Fear was quickly overwhelming me, making my struggles more frantic and futile. I was restrained and damn that was never a good thing! Memories gibbered inside my mind, three different voices crying out, but they were all in agreement about that. Then the softness of the bindings and the cool still air of the room registered against my desperation. There were no sounds of screams ripped from already hoarse throats nor did the smell of burnt hair flow in with every breath. Eyes still closed I determinedly loosened my fisted fingers; freeing the bed covers they had taloned around. Several shuddering breaths shook me and I bit my lip to keep from groaning. I lay shaking for what felt like forever as phantom electricity made my muscles twitch at odd times. As the minutes passed my fear faded, replaced by welcome anger. I growled in the darkness. ^Whoever came up with the idea of shock therapy should have had it applied to his balls. Yep, roasted nuts sound good about now ^  
  
I sat up and reached down to pull the tangle of blankets away from my feet. They came away easily and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I laughed harshly letting some of my rage leak out. Such a piddling thing as logic hadn't kept the fear that they might really be restraints from making me nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I growled and gave myself a mental slap. ^I am *not* Frank Parker. Frank Parker is guy with an ex-wife, a son, and a top-secret job worthy of an X-File. Besides that he isn't at Hansen Island any more. He's safe and sound in that facility so classified that even thinking its name is probably bullet in the brain worthy. And no matter what that doctor Olga threatens when he pulls his pranks she's not really going to get out the paddles. So calm the fuck down!^ My racing heart paid me about as much attention as Cordelia paid that girl.Marisa? And I knew how she turned out. I tried to call back the bubbling anger but it had slipped away leaving me drained and restless.  
  
I opened my eyes. ^This sucks.^ I shook my head at that more than obvious fact. Only I would pick out the old fatigues of a guy with more mental problems and weirder sense of humor than me at the same time an evil turn- into-your costume spell was cast. Swinging my legs over the edge of my bed I leaned back slightly then pushed forward to get up the momentum to lurch to my feet. I just stood there for a moment in my dark room. There were shadowed shapes I knew were actually a sturdy, but ugly, old walnut bureau rescued from my parents' room with its adorning kitsch red glass lamp and its ridiculous capping lampshade of absurd grass green tassels. Inside its two locked drawers were my hunting supplies. I'd shivered at the thought of Anthony getting his hands on anything remotely like a real weapon while in close proximity to me because I'd left it lying around. True, the even more obscured objects on the floor were pieces of crap disguising nasty surprises to keep the bastard from walking into my room when it got into his drunken head to do so but he sometimes would forget in his rage all the dangers of coming in my room. In fact I was surprised that my mother hadn't hurt herself when she walked oh so innocently over the minefield to see if I was 'sick'. Over there near the right wall were the very geometric box shapes that were milk crates filled with clothes bought from Thrift stores. There was a window behind the boxes, but it was completely blocked because of our eighty-year-old neighbor who likes to walk around in the buff. ^Mrs. Peterson sure does drive down the property values of the neighborhood.^  
  
The window that was providing what light there was hung above my bed. I could visualize it without turning around. The moonlight and struggling waves of starlight falling on the wooden box with legs masquerading as a bed and its slightly washed out deep blue mattress with pink flowers, it had started getting those little fuzz balls because it had been rubbed for so many years, covered in the clean brown stripped sheets I'd just put on it. Which were now soaked with sweat. My checkered quilt and white blanket made of -actually I didn't know what it was made of, it was that pressed stuff that came away in balls if pulled, sat balled up at the bottom looking utterly innocent despite their earlier attempts to swallow me. Underneath that there was the battered army green lock box stuffed with my few precious possessions. They had been displaced there when my stakes took up the bureau space. They were basically the few pictures of my childhood, and lately shots from my high school years, along with some surviving homemade birthday 'presents'. Next to it was the ever-important first aid kit. The kit used to have a big red cross laid over a white background but I'd scratched the one bar off long ago and now it was a red line on a white and silver background since the metal showed through the paint. There were dirty clothes and junk food stashes and piles of schoolbooks and comics filling up any of the empty spaces but there were no stuffed toys hiding in my closet like Willow's Mr. Fluffy or Buffy's Gordo. I shook my head.  
  
^I don't live here. I could clear out of here in two moves. This is where I come when there's no where else to be.^ Shuffling forward in the dark, careful of my own traps, I found my door. I leaned over to grab the pair of jeans I'd left there before jumping into bed and shimmied into them. Straightening I then flipped, turned, and twisted the locks to let myself out.  
  
My socked feet silently slid over the hall carpeting, disgusting rose pink stuff fading into gray. I used to slide along the hall in my bare feet getting up static charge to shock myself with by touching a doorknob when I was a bored kid with nothing else to do. Now I usually wear socks. They muffle footsteps indoors in a way I'd learned to appreciate as Anthony Harris got more and more violent as he hit the drugs and booze more and more heavily. There wasn't much light flittering into the inner sanctum of doom that was my house, however I had plenty of patrols under my belt and the little bit of light showed me all I needed to know. I choked down a snort. ^My life lessons are setting me up to either be a great cat burglar or an assassin. Oh, I'd love to see the expression on the guidance counselor's face if I told him that one.^  
  
I made my way down the stairs without making more sound than the occasional whisper of cotton on nylon thread having long ago memorized the pattern I needed to walk to not set off a set of squeals. Unease unfurled in my heart, it was easier than it used to be to set my feet in a way to silence the noise of walking. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs my left hand resting on the worn knob of wood at the end of the banister. ^He feels so close now.^ My eyes closed almost involuntarily and I swallowed. There was a fog in the back of my head. It felt like if I just reached-  
  
^Oh, look there's the door.^ Even inside my own head that sounded false. But I didn't want to think about how it felt almost natural to merge with the shadow in my head.  
  
I turned the sharp corner at the bottom of the stairs and swung into the kitchen. Immediately I relaxed. The little compulsion in the back of my mind eased. I could handle this. I didn't need to be Super Soldier to handle this. I was okay. This was well known territory. The old linoleum under my socks sprang under my steps, unlike the flattened to death carpet of the house, and it felt safe. There were three easy exits: the door I'd come through, a door that lead to the small bathroom under the stairs that was along the same wall, and a door on the opposite wall that led to the outside. In a pinch there were three fairly large windows I could crawl out of. Knowing I had options was a big load off my mind. My room had only two exits. The straightforward one being through the door to the hall, but that was simple enough to block, as it had been blocked in the past. The tougher escape route was out the closed over window, across the garage roof, and down the oak tree. I'd only used that one once, and it had been more a test to see if I could than anything else. ^I'm paranoid..^ A smile flittered across my face. ^But I'm alive.^  
  
And with that thought in mind I headed for the fridge hoping that everything inside wouldn't be. I cautiously opened the off-white door semi- believing my own wisecrack. ^This is Sunnydale after all.^ However once the near blinding burst of yellow light from the fridge bulb faded to some splotchy purple afterimages with red lining I saw only the Chinese islands and wilted lettuce that always seemed to be there. I shook my head and grabbed the milk jug off the door. 


	19. Running Would Be Good

Running Would Be Good  
  
Thinking was never my strong suit. I've avoided doing it for years. Made my life easier. Lately I've spent too much time thinking in my opinion. However I don't think I'm done yet.  
  
I've been feeling awkward for years also and I've got a feeling that I'm not going to leave those moments behind either.  
  
"So." I said shuffling my feet. It was nine o'clock and I was doing my damndest to save the world. Meaning I'd showed up to patrol the few deader than most cemeteries that Buffy and Giles felt comfortable letting Willow and me do our bumbling best. We mostly get in Buffy's way and unless she is really in the need of backup, or someone to gossip with, the two of them try and keep us from risking our necks. But a whole town is a lot of area for one person, no matter how fast or destined, to cover. At least that's one of our arguments. Logic makes Giles do that rub-y thing with his glasses.  
  
Then there's the trouble that comes with the number of night hours in a day, and our inability to go without sleep. We patrol mostly the happy hour of vamp activity around the year. That changes with the different sunset times as the seasons turn. Even then that leaves a lot of hours when we just can't be on patrol. Giles never exactly laid it out for us, he just said this was how it was done, but I figure we strike in the middle hours because by then the vamps and demons alike are *eating* their victims instead of picking them or basking in the afterglow. Every so often we rotate the hours but mostly we stick to happy hour.  
  
All that reckoning of mine was well and good but in the end it boiled down to me standing a few feet from said Willow a couple hours after sunset as she fidgeted. Feeling like I'd just confessed to killing her dog, which was ridiculous because she'd never been allowed to own a pet in her life despite all the pleading and begging hours we'd put into it as a kids.  
  
"So." Willow echoed me and I had a brief flash back to when we were kids and play 'So what do you wantta do?' 'I don't know what do you wantta do?' Furtively she glanced at me then at the woods behind me. Falling Pines cemetery was aptly named, for once, cause of its surrounding pine trees. Only about a hundred graves filled its lot. I remember that it opened when I was around five because one of my neighbors, Mr. Terju, was the first to be buried here.  
  
Frustration filled me. ^She's my best friend for heaven's sake!^ I braced myself and looked right at Willow. "I don't know about you but I wanna find something and kill it."  
  
Willow snorted and smacked my left arm. "You are such a guy." Her smile was teasing and I felt my shoulders straighten as the weirdness between us evaporated.  
  
"Glad you think so. I was starting to worry with all the femme fatales hanging around me." I shot back hoping silently that she could continue her verbal assaults. Because if we could still tease each other than we were still friends, she never could make even mock swipes at people that she didn't feel comfortable with.  
  
She frowned slightly in consideration. "What about Giles?" She started walking towards the center of the graveyard, probably remembering why we were actually here. I trotted to catch up to her.  
  
"Giles so doesn't count." I called shaking my head. When I was at her side I slowed to match her leisurely walk.  
  
She gave me a shocked look then smiled again. "I'm going to tell him you said that." She hit my arm again.  
  
I flinched in fake terror and raised my arms as if to ward her off still walking at her side. "Oh no, anything but that!" I smiled and bumped her hip. Willow stumbled slightly after she regained her balance she turned and glared at me. Then her eyes bugged out and her mouth dropped open. ^That's the oldest- *Crap*.^ I snapped around and gulped. There were five very pissed, very hungry, looking vampires looking at us like they were aging seniors and we were the meals on wheels. They were scraggly, longhaired, and dirty. I'd never seen such desperate looking vamps. They were all guys and dimly from deep inside I realized what they were. They were a rogue bachelor band, thrown out of their group because of scarcity of prey or because change in leadership led to their disfavor, starving and with nothing left to lose they would attack anything that looked like food.  
  
"Willow." I whispered out of the side of my mouth and reached my hand back. Hers slipped into mine feeling damp and small. "Run."  
  
Three seconds wasted turning around. Two seconds lost getting up momentum. A howl spilt the air at six and I stopped keeping a mental tally and put a little more speed into my running. The hunt was on. Part of me was happy with my accurate analysis of the situation but the rest of me wanted to stay in one piece and didn't give a damn that I knew the pride hierarchy that was going to cause my ingestion.  
  
Falling Pines is basically a big open field with headstones sticking up like knee knockers, not the best place to try and outrun a pack of slobbering vampires who can almost pace a car as it is. When the hand on the back of my jacket dragged me away from Willow and threw me to the ground I discovered another disadvantage as my head connected with a stone. Loving daughter flashed before my eyes. Slightly dazed and tasting dirt I grabbed the stake from the small of my back. Laying down on this after school job was not good for life expectancy. I rolled so I was face up again surprising the vampire- a pale hollow cheeked shaggy haired blonde who hadn't seen the right end of a toothbrush in far too long judging by his yellow teeth- that had decided I looked nummy and didn't want to share.  
  
I blinked and coughed trying to get the dust out of my lungs. ^That was* really* cliché.^ I shook off my shock and completed the roll to my feet. Ex-Mr. Eternal Life's buddy was immediately on me and I went back to the ground. There was a burst of pain from the hip on my right side and the wind was knocked out of me. The vamp half got off me, smirked, then started raining blows on my torso. Judging by muscle mass, the look of sheer brainlessness, and remnants of a military style haircut my current opponent was a football player before his death. ^Definitely fights like one.^  
  
I gasped as a particularly nasty blow made ended with a crunch and a sharp stinging pain on my side joined the rest of the throbbing pain of my injuries. However I smirked when the Jock from Hell shrieked in pain and clutched his bubbling hand. Stiffly but with ease that I still found slightly disturbing I thrust the stake that I had made sure not to drop during our scuffle into his chest.  
  
Wheezing I sat up. "That'll teach you to play with your food." I told the dust barely showing on my red shirt. Then reached into it to remove the remains of holy water bottle from my now soggy pocket wincing a little as one of pieces came out of me as well leaving a fairly good-sized hole in the fabric. "Damn and I liked this shirt." Looking up I scrambled to my feet at the sight of Willow holding off two vamps with a cross. 


	20. Vampires, Oh My

Vampires, Oh My  
  
Maybe it was because of the blows to my head, maybe it was just that there wasn't much in there to begin with, but despite my years of experience I didn't take the time to come up with a better plan than to tackle the vamp trying to flank her. I hit his knees with enough momentum to land us both on the ground, hard. For a moment I lay with my face planted in the grass gasping as my bruises protested. ^I'm going to be feeling that in the morning.^ Shaking it off I half scrambled, half crawled over to the vamp. He'd hit terra firma a couple feet off and to the right and rolled, 'cause in this case my vampy foe weighted almost fifty pounds less than me. In fact he looked like a good wind would blow him apart. Standing on my knees over him I almost felt sorry. Gaunt as a bunch of sticks he just closed his eyes as I shoved my stake into his heart. It was probably my imagination but as his body broke down into so much dust I could have sworn it sounded like a sigh.  
  
Twisting I caught sight of Willow. She too was on her knees, but in her case it wasn't voluntary. The sound of my heartbeat roared in my ears and I saw red. ^Damn vampires!^ Fury swirled around inside my chest faster and faster. And then I *pushed*. The grubby vampire's fingers were ripped from Willow's throat as tornado force winds plucked him up and hurled him twenty feet. He probably would have kept going but he had an encounter with a tree branch. I averted my eyes and took several deep breaths to settle my stomach. Once I felt capable I shuffled on my knees, not bothering to stand, over to Willow. She was bent over panting with one hand on the ground supporting her weight. Her were eyes closed and her right hand lightly griped her throat. Edging around her fingers I could see red blotches that I knew would be livid bruises tomorrow. I pulled her against my chest clasping her in my arms tightly around her and started rocking. *Too close.*  
  
"Are you alright?" I whispered croakily. Swallowing some spit in the effort to ease the roughness of my throat I continued, "I know that's a silly question since vampire plus throat equals bad but you're not allowed to not- alright. You know that right?" I felt Willow's chuckles vibrating into my chest.  
  
She straightened and looked me in the eye. "Xander you are a nut." I knew by the tense set of her body she'd seen. "Xander?"  
  
I closed my eyes and shook my head. "I know." Twisting my head around I looked at the vampire still skewered. It was not a pretty sight. Blood bubbled out of the corners of his mouth and his eyes rolled franticly around. The tip of the branch had broken off but the main portion had stayed connected to the tree and therefore so did the vampire leaving him hanging two and a half feet off the ground. Wood protruded out of the center of his chest along with fragments of white that I figured by the positioning were remains of the spinal disks and breastbone pieces the branch had shattered going through his torso. The now quadriplegic vampire could do nothing but hang as his stolen blood dripped slowly out of him.  
  
Willow struggled her way out of my arms and fear that she had finally found a good reason to revile me choked the breath out of me. I stared at the ground unwilling to look into her face and see the disgust I feared was there. I had just. Willow's little hand moved across my field of vision and came back again with one of the stake rough-hewed stakes Giles passed out to us like lollipops in her grip.  
  
Startled I raised my chin from my chest. Willow was white as the ghost sheets she wore every Halloween but she gave me a wry little smile anyway. Speechless I watched her grass stained jean clad knees rise past my face as she clambered to her feet. Still struck dumb I twisted my back to watch her progress, which while it wasn't exactly steady was purposeful. Unable to just watch I pushed myself up and on to my feet and followed her.  
  
I caught up to her as she slowed to a stop in front of my victim. Standing beside her I could clearly see the vampire's face. He was older than the others, meaning he didn't look like he'd died with pimples dotting his face, but there was no way he was any older than twenty five. Also I noted numbly that he was not as malnourished as the others, therefore he was probably the leader, but I didn't see any intelligence in his eyes. All I saw was pain and a cornered and dying animal's ferocity. I knew if he could still move he'd be clawing and scratching never giving up the fight for survival. In his eyes I read his hatred and I swallowed.  
  
There was no way I could leave him here like this. The pull of gravity probably made every second hanging there pure torture. I'm not the type to find pleasure in others pain, even those I'm going to kill. The path was clear. The soldier in me knew that a quick death was something to pray for; my animalistic side despised the mere thought leaving an enemy still able to recover to attack again. Yet I hesitated. I had done this to him just because he made me mad. The thought terrified me in a way no vampire or demon ever had.  
  
Forgotten in my own self-condemning was Willow. She reminded me of her presence though by standing on her toes and planting her stake right in his aorta. Red tinted teeth were revealed as the last vampire snarled his last snarl. I watched as the individual flakes of dust drifted to the ground. Then feeling awkward with the silence I cleared my throat and smiled my trademark smile at Willow. "You got three to my two. I don't know about you but I'm feeling unloved."  
  
Her smile was wicked and put the unease I felt about my new vampire flight school straight out of my mind. "Jealous Xander? Why, I didn't know you swung that way."  
  
"Hgh?" I sputtered pretty sure my face was rapidly growing as red as her hair.  
  
Her smile grew gentler and she rubbed her throat absentmindedly with her right hand. I took in the gesture and the rest of her appearance. Disheveled was kindly putting it; her light yellow blouse was smeared with brown and green and the top button had popped off revealing a corner of white lace from her bra. Her jeans didn't look like they'd been half ripped off but they were just as colorful. Looking down at myself I saw I wasn't looking so hot either. My white t-shirt had a hole on the left right below my heart that was bordered by far spread stain of red that intersected with the grass and dirt I'd picked up while rolling around. My red nylon shirt didn't show the blood as well but it had a matching hole. I lucked out with my jeans. You could barely see anything. *Wait a minute. Color?*  
  
One of the first things I grew accustomed to about patrolling was to the lack of color; I mean it's not a huge thing like getting used to running across 'meals'. Thing is you need light to get color. Other wise everything looks gray. The reasons were something I was lectured on in art class but I couldn't remember for the life of me, and not all of Sunnydale had convenient streetlights. We carry flashlights of course but they seem to deter vamps and demons too much. Since our usual strategy is playing tasty 'come eat' bait that kind of defeats the purpose. Therefore I shouldn't be seeing with the clarity I am. Rewinding my memories I pinpointed the moment when the world became daylight like. My mouth went dry as the Mojave. When I saw those vamps I automatically switched. I can see in the dark with my mutant eyes therefore they were better so I made the change. *Now I have survival instincts?!*  
  
Quickly I whirled around. "Our work is done. It's time to fly." My witty quip didn't sound so witty, even to me. It sounded desperate.  
  
I heard a sigh behind me. "Xander you big butthead." My arm suddenly had two new hands attached. She turned me around planting both hands on my arms. *Boy, fighting vampires sure has made her stronger.* Willow glared at me and shook me. "I don't care that your eyes are weird. I don't care that you're a mutant. Heck, I wouldn't even care if you stripped down and did the hula right here in this graveyard," Willow paused a thoughtful expression replacing her grim one and I blushed as I imagined the picture *that* painted in her noggin. Shaking her head she focus back on me, "expect for a little bit of an awkward factor. You. Are. My. Friend." She added a shake for every word.  
  
Words are just words, for most people they are not worth the air used to expel them, but for Willow, my Willow, words had never came with ease. When she said something she meant it. My smile spread easily and I knew it was the goofy sap inspired one that I always felt made me look like an idiot. "Really? I guess that means I can copy your Trigonometry homework tomorrow?"  
  
Giving me one final shake she let me go. "Forget it buster." 


	21. Qui Sais?

A/N: To all French speakers I apologize for any mistakes I might make. I'm as egotistical as the next person and showing off my French skills (you can take that either way you want to) in a conversation is enough to make me feel my vulnerabilities. As Xander once said, "I laugh in the face of danger. Then I run and hide till it goes away."  
  
Qui Sais?  
  
I jerked up. For a moment confusion swirled through my already befuddled mind, then I realized that I'd almost done a swan dive onto my desk do to being asleep. With a sigh I slouched back into my titanium strength plastic chair and winced as its absolute inflexibility dug into the bruises I'd acquired ground pounding. I don't know when the school board last sprung for desks but I think it was before I was a gleam in my yet unmet papy's eye. A theme in this town. I imagine that people in charge hope that the citizens of our lovely burg die before they get around to filing complaints. Looking at Mr. Martin through half lidded eyes I wondered how he'd avoided being chow for some unlucky demon. ^He's from France after all, you think they'd jump at the chance to get the taste of surfer and airhead out of their mouths.^  
  
Alicia Ferrence, a girl who I remember eating bugs in kindergarten and stealing other kids' puppets, leaned over and with the subtlety of a hippo dancing the ballet "accidentally" dropped a piece of paper on the floor next to my feet. Restraining myself from bawling her out for her poor technique in dead drops I slid to my left, the only way possible to bend over in these desk/chairs, and snagged the paper. Unfolding it I found myself looking at Willow's precise handwriting. _____________________________________________________________________ Jean-Luc LeBeau -  
  
5555 Roi Rue New Orleans, LA 15685  
  
Your Grandfather?  
  
Sorry I couldn't tell you earlier. Buffy. _____________________________________________________________________ Looking down at the note I felt panic and happiness rolling around in my stomach fighting for dominance. I glanced three rows back and two to my left. Willow shrugged sheepishly and gave me a happy nod. My eyes darted to Buffy sitting next to her. Buffy was zoning out the window and probably wouldn't notice anything less than Angel strolling in through the door. ^Or maybe, Ford.^  
  
I knew the frown that lit my face made me look jealous, and in a way I was, but *damnit* this wasn't about jealousy. It *wasn't*. A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled the whirls of color I read off Ford. Dark purple dripped out of his every word and blood red was knotted at his heart. There was a tinge of pale pink overlaying it and lime green oozing out in his wake. Just looking at him made edgy. He was desperate and angry, sorry and sick. He didn't change either. That really creeped me out. The only other person I'd met who was that consistent was Mrs. French, and if that didn't just give me the wiggins. ^Of course I can't really come out and say, 'He creeps me out cause his colors are all wrong.' That'll convince them. That I need to see the men in white coats. Or they could always point out my lovely track record of judging people, which even I'll admit hasn't been so hot. ^  
  
I clenched my fist ant felt the paper in my hand crumple. Remembering its importance I hurriedly flattened it out. Willow spent- well a lot less time than I had- getting me this information. I stopped. ^Now what?^ staring at the address I felt lost.  
  
There was a man out there who fathered me. That was the man I wanted to meet. Why? I certainly didn't want him to play father, I'd had enough of that. Yet there was part of me that yearned to make the connection. It was probably the same part that wanted for years for my mother to look at me instead of through me. The analogy pulled me up short. ^Maybe I *do* want a father. Someone to look at me with pride instead of rage?^ I took a deep breath as that revelation settled in my heart. ^O-K. Maybe I am a little boy who wants a pat on the head.^ I snorted at my own stupidity.  
  
"Quelque chose tu besoin partages avec nous Etienne." #Is there something you wish to share with the class, Etienne?# Silently I cursed myself as Mr. Martin uttered those words, I swear they write them in the teacher handbook under 'catching in the act'. I knew he was speaking to me. I, to my immediate horror upon learning it in ninth grade, was Etienne. It took me a while to get used to the French name the baudet had assigned, mainly because my understanding of the French language was at about the same level as my understanding of calculus, but over time even I learned to recognize it. ^At least it's better than Etni.^ The poor sucker next to me was the one who got stuck with *that* name. Martin wasn't the most original and did things alphabetically. Now of course I understood the rest of the sentence, something that in the past I couldn't have done if my life depended on it.  
  
I looked up to find Mr. Martin, all hundred and twenty pounds of him contained in green polyester pants and a very clashing orange dress shirt, scowling at me like he was the Kaiser and I was Otto Von Bismarck whom he was giving the boot. ^Willow spent five days pounding that history lesson into my head. Now I can't forget it.^ "Non, Monsieur." #No, Sir.# His nostrils flared with outrage and I groaned inwardly. Obviously my tone hadn't contained the correct servile note.  
  
"Je ne comprende pas comment tu peux penser cet je suis assez stupide te croire. Tu es un garcon sans les cerveaux le Dieu donne un pomme. Je prie pour le monde avec personnes comme tu dans ce. Merde." #I can't understand how you can think that I'm stupid enough to believe that. You are a boy without the brains God gave an apple. I pray for the world with people like you in it. Shit.# He moaned and rubbed his temples.  
  
I couldn't resist I rolled my eyes. "Monsieur Martin, tu m'emmerdes." #Mr. Martin, you're bugging the shit out of me.# Restless shifting filled the room with swishy sounds as those who were clueless tried to figure out what was going on and those who knew at least the minimum French swear words to impress their friends couldn't believe what they were hearing. I heard Willow's gasp. Half-awed I noted that one of Martin's veins was actually throbbing near the temple. ^I wonder if he's about ready for that aneurysm.^  
  
"Tu petit con! Tu defi insultes moi! Ta mère est une pute et tu n'es pas plus! " #You little prick. You dare insult me! Your mother is a whore and you're no better!.# Spittle flew from his mouth as his face turned an appalling shade of red.  
  
"Va te faire enculer." #Go fuck yourself.# I snarled. Anger burned in my veins. My mother was a lot of things but never that! Hurriedly I clamped down on my fury, the nasty little part of me wanted to crush the little toad. Last night had taught me that I should be careful what I wish for.  
  
"Tu fils de pute! Sors de là!" #You son of a bitch! Get out of here!# Martin's chest was heaving and spittle dangled from the corner of his mouth. Swallowing my resentment I swept my books off my desk. Glaring at Mr. Martin I straightened up, ignoring the weight of the class's eyes on my back, and marched out of the room letting the door slam behind me.  
  
Out in the hallway I shook with contained rage and fear. I'd been *this* close to letting loose on that idiot and he hadn't even said anything he hadn't before. Harsh paint fumes mixed with my whirling emotions was starting to make me dizzy. The lockers in front of me had been repainted a brown ugly enough to make a grown man cry. Considering the obvious tightfisted administration I was a little reluctant to hazard a guess at what would be bad enough for them to spring for the paint. However knowing this town it probably involved blood and guts, maybe not even human ones.  
  
Taking a deep breath to calm myself for my coming confrontation, and gagging on the foul air, I shoved my emotions in a box. As composed as possible for me I turned to my left and casually headed down the hall to the Principal's office. 


	22. Part V:Elizabeth Harris

Part V: Elizabeth Harris  
  
*I'm bored. I'm very, very bored. I can't believe how bored I am.^ Blowing air up out of the corner of my mouth I tried to puff my bangs out of my eyes and only partly succeeded. This didn't dishearten me too much since it certainly wasn't life or death important. I tilted my head, which was resting on my right hand, which was resting on the kitchen table by the way of my elbow, and looked out the window with my one uncovered eye. All I saw were the naked trees poking up like twisted hands surrounded by their tossed off clothing. November is a pretty month but no one wanders outside in the nippy air, unless they're feeling an artificial warmth, besides everyone else has somewhere to be at this hour.  
  
It was sort of liberating at first, having nothing pressing on me: responsibilities or drug addiction. Now doing nothing was driving me crazy. My fingers itched. That was pretty much the cause of me picking up the bottle in the first place. I loved my mother but looking back she let me get away with *way* too much. I never had to work, I had money aplenty, I never had to *do* anything, and she never made me. When I finally went too far, even by her loose standards, she still sent me an allowance that was more than most people's wages. I don't know if her not paying for my drug habit would have made me quit sooner. It certainly didn't help. My spoiled brat personality was pretty well entrenched by then, with me even having picked a personal motto: 'I want it and I want it now'. So I doubt it. It's truly amazing how much you can despise yourself given the chance. I groaned. ^God, I'm sinking back into brooding about my sucky choices. I hate brooding.^  
  
Ring. Ring.  
  
I let my arm fall on the rough tabletop as I twisted my head towards the living room in disbelief. ^Who the heck would be calling? All my* friends* went the way of my husband and Xander's in school.^ A lump of terror formed in my belly. ^No. No. No. No.^ I stumbled to my feet, tripping on my skirt hem in my rush to uncross my legs, and by a hair's breadth kept from tasting the floor. Impatient to get to the phone I barely acknowledged my fumblings.  
  
Ring. Ring. *Ring.*  
  
Diving for the phone sitting upon its royal pile of rubbish I slipped on a magazine and half flew half fell on the couch. Somehow I landed with the receiver grasped in my hand and only slightly out of breath. Putting the piece of cheap plastic next to my ear I breathily asked, "Yes?" ^Please let him be okay. Please? He's all I've got left.^ I hadn't realized just how empty my life was till just this moment and it scared me. My son had every reason in the world to hate me and about three from hell not to, but if he was gone( The receiver shook in my hand and I restrained barely from screaming at the person at the other end to hurry up and talk. Visions of him falling down the stairs and breaking his neck, of a school shooting like that Columbus place- or whatever the heck it was called, of oh God knows what taking the one good thing in my life away from me played through my mind.  
  
"Mrs. Harris?" The female voice coming out of the speaker sounded uninterested with just the right pinch of annoyance to let the person on the other end know she had more important things she could be doing and I felt some of my fear leave me. The old bat didn't sound as if she was trying to softly break the news to a soon to be distraught mother. However, I couldn't let go of my worry, people become jaded or just start out as cruel bastards and this town had a fair share of both.  
  
"Yes." I drawled impatiently and began tapping my fingers on the arm of the couch in an effort to let out some of my anxiousness.  
  
"I'm sorry to inform you-" Panic filled my chest and I swallowed a big whoop of air. Tears clouded my vision. ^No.^ "that your son Alexander Harris has caused a severe disruption to one of his classes. We would appreciate if you could come down so the `proper disciplinary action can be discussed." The bubble of panic inside me burst messily and for a moment I forgot to breathe.  
  
When I finally rediscovered my voice I found myself saying, "Alright. I'll be right there." Then without waiting for a reply I gently place the receiver in the cradle. I was still in shock and I just sat there staring at the phone. My relief warred with my chagrin ^God I am pathetic.^  
  
Laughter exploded from my lips and I reached up to wipe the tears from my cheeks. ^How did I end up here? Oh, God.^ My laughter transmuted into weeping and I gave up on my tears. Wrapping my arms around my midsection I hugged myself and rocked as sobs wracked me.  
  
Part of me desperately wanted to just stay there surrounded by filth and despair, there seemed to be no point in trying to change. The hole whose bottom was beneath my feet seemed to have slippery walls and no footholds. What was the point in trying to claw my way up if I'll I'd accomplish would be dirty hands and a bruised butt?  
  
The other part of me was my stubborn pride and that was the part that pulled the sniveling wreck of a human being I'd transformed into out of my depression. Giving up was not an option for no other reason than 'because'. I stopped rocking and with an effort I stopped crying. Releasing my aching sides I ruthlessly scrubbed the heels of my hands into my blurry eyes. I pulled in several deep breaths then got to my feet. I'd wasted precious time having a pity party and now it was off to school.  
  
I took several steps towards the closet near the door for my shoes then stopped. ^Do I even know where the school is?^ Shaking my head at my own foolishness I continued walking. ^This town is so small even if I can't remember the way all I have to do is drive around and look for a place that screams 'let me out'.^ I yanked the closet door open and had to dive for cover as an object decided I was the negative to its positive. The resulting clatter as the thing hit the tile of the foyer made me glad I'd missed it and looking down I was doubly relieved. Once I got over my flash of 'ohmygod' at the shiny metal arrow tip I stared questioningly into the concealing blackness of the closet. ^How did a crossbow get in my closet? And what else is in there?^ 


	23. Are You NUTS!

N/A: Alright everybody, this was a rush job so later on I might come back and change it. However, Merry Christmas!  
  
***  
  
Are you NUTS!  
  
^And on the other hand, you have different fingers.^ Shaking my head I bent down and grabbed the weapon laying on my floor. For a second I maintained the hope that it might be some fake plastic child's toy that had just been laying in wait for a head to land on. Then my fingers wrapped around the polished wood surface of the handle or whatever the nonpointy end was called. It felt almost alive it fit into my palm so well. This thing had been used, and often. Hefting it I was surprised at its lightness. Somehow I thought that such an antique would weigh more. ^But it isn't an antique, is it?^ I frowned at the lethal piece of hardware in my hands. Weathered and used it might be, but the bits of metal holding the thing together were the rather distinct matt black steel they only started making a few decades ago. I know cause the made such a big stink about it in the infomercials when they came out with the frying pans made from the stuff and during those years I had a thing for watching the test patterns while I was high.  
  
^If this was Anthony's no way would it be in this good a condition. I'm deadly sure if I pulled the trigger the arrow would fly. So that leaves only one person- unless some burglar broke in, didn't take anything, and happened to leave his archaic weapon behind in the closet- but why would Alexander have a crossbow.^ I glance up in the direction of my son's room wondering what else I would find if I looked. With a sigh I turned back to the closet. I shifted the bow into my left hand as I ran my right hand over the left wall for the light switch. Finding it after a bit of fumbling I flipped it. ^And then there was light!^  
  
I took a quick look around. ^Well this is disappointing.^ There were several sets of moldering shoes and cobwebs that included their own bugs and the shelves..well less said about what was on them the better. All in all it looked no different than it had the last time I'd looked. Snorting at my own silliness I bent and grabbed the slightly less dusty pair of white canvas tennis shoes I'd kicked in here after meeting Rochard. Slipping them on was a little tricky since I was using only one hand. The bow stayed in my left though I wasn't sure why I was so reluctant to put it down. Maybe I was afraid I was having LSD flashbacks? I shrugged.  
  
I bumped the door with my hip to swing it open a little more. Clipped onto its back was the full-length mirror that had come with the house. I thought it was a little pretentious since it was the same size as the door, a ridiculous nine feet. That made it just the right size for a giant. I ignored my sudden onset of dwarfism and checked to make sure I didn't look like a hillbilly. Shoes. Check. Hair brushed. Check. Face not dirty. Check. Blue denim dress not containing any holes or stains. Check. Smile. I smiled my most charming smile in anticipation of meeting the troll and having to hide the fact that I thought he was a complete and utter, well, troll. Check. Releasing my captive face muscles I waved the crossbow at my reflection. Crossbow and intent to get explanation. Check.  
  
Spinning on my heel I kicked the door closed with my right foot and grabbed the dull brass knob for the front door with my right hand. I was outside and next to the car in a flash. Rounding the front of it I hoped that my earlier observation was still true because if any of my neighbors saw me walking around with a crossbow. Well, with my history of drug use I'd bet I'd have some really concerned neighbors. The equivalent would probably be seeing your mailman walking around with a machine gun.  
  
I pulled the handle and hopped into the driver's seat. I didn't lock the car because, come on, it was a '78 Ford Fiesta. The blue gray paint was the only thing keeping it together. If a thief wanted it they were welcome to it. I twisted around to place the crossbow on the floor in the back. For one thing I didn't like the thought of an arrow pointed at my back and for another I'd feel just a little bit silly driving around town with a weapon sliding back and forth on the back seats. Making sure it was secure among the MacDonald's cups and Taco Bell bags I couldn't help but think that maybe I was a little too late on the silly thing. Turning back around I thumped into the threadbare upholstered seat back and reached for the washed out gray sun visor. With a pull it came down revealing a darker gray side and letting my keys slide into my palm. It was about as clichéd as hiding the key under the doormat but with my memory it was a good idea nevertheless.  
  
The key slid home with an oiled ease that was at odds with the condition of the car and started even easier. I was glad in a way that Anthony had taken the newer gray Escort. It was a stick and a finicky starter, though it looked better with only its dirt shroud, and I never liked it.  
  
Finding the school was as simple as I thought. This town barely rates the label, but maybe I'm prejudiced. I grew up in New York and traveled the world after I finished the growing part. Sunnydale was Anthony's hometown. I only moved here because he said he wanted to "raise" his family here. Hindsight being twenty/twenty I know now that he just wanted to be where he had the drug trade connections of his youth.  
  
Walking down the halls of my son's school I couldn't contain my shiver. ^This place is creepy.^ I kept looking over my shoulder for the ghosts I could feel pressing around me. I knew intellectually it was empty because the kids were in class and that the weight of the silence was getting to me. ^I should have worn the heels. I can't even hear *my* footsteps.^ Another shiver rode down my spine and I almost walked past the Principal's office.  
  
I raised an eyebrow at the huge lettering on the glass shouting out PRINCIPAL. ^Hmm, I see somebody's compensating.^ Turning the knob I stepped into the past. Wide eyed I glanced around. ^Damn. This place looks just like my third school's office.^ I took a couple steps in releasing the door but stopped when the bleach blonde behind the raised counter that dominated the hauntingly familiar room snorted. Ms. Trailer Trash looked down her nose at me, almost literally since her stool put her head above me, which I thought was terrible ironic since she was wearing a fuzzy pink polyester sweater, three inch press on matching nails, a green scrunchy holding her jacked to Jesus hair up, and earrings consisting of dangling pairs of cherries. I couldn't see her legs but I imagined she was wearing spandex pants and stiletto heels. ^My, God. We have Peg Bundy here.^  
  
The eyebrow that had lowered when I came in rose once more and I gave here the look my mother used to give her cousins when they were being particularly British. Peggy gave in under ten. She looked down and shuffled some papers trying to hold onto some pride. I started forward again stopping only when I reached the scratched wooden lip of the counter. "I'm here to see the Principal about my son?" My words were absolutely correct but I made sure they were dripping with contempt. I'd wrapped my dignity around me like a cloak turning my $12.99 dress into the robes of royalty. She looked up and did a nice fish impression, her lips flapping. I smiled my most gracious smile rubbing salt into the wound. ^No one looks down on me.^  
  
Under the weight of my gaze Peg cleared her throat. "I'll let Mr. Snyder know you're here." She reached to her right and hit a button. Speaking louder for the intercom she said, "Principal Snyder. Mrs. Harris is here."  
  
"Tell her to come in." The tinny voice that came back made my hackles rise. ^I thought I knew that name. Mr. Snyder, the troll. Hmm, I thought he was a receptionist.^ Covering my surprise I turned right and made my way to the other door not giving Peg the chance to speak.  
  
Upon entering the office of the troll I noted two things. One it was geared to making the man sitting in the center looking important with his high backed leather chair, high tech and dust collecting computer, rows of leather bound books, and ornate desk but just made him look petty and self- important. ^You can practically smell the over compensation.^ Secondly my son was sitting in one of the two mundane chairs opposite the monstrosity of a desk with an apparent calm that I know I wouldn't have felt if I was in his place. Back in my teenage rebellion days I was all bravado and spitfire but I was way too nervous to pull off *that* poker face. It took me years to learn to not fear the authority figures I was giving the birdie. I searched my memory for any past calls that would explain his apparent nonchalance but I couldn't recall ever being dragged away from my *fun* to come to this nasty little man's office.  
  
Speaking of, he looked just as sour as I expected, though his pointy face made him look more like an elf than a troll. His charcoal black suit was starched to perfection and his neat red tie glared out at the viewer. Even his clothes seemed to be trying scream 'I'm important. Look how important I am!'  
  
Keeping the affected poise I'd donned to snub his secretary I nodded to the troll and swept into the chair next to my son. "You called?" My haughty tone seemed to throw him for a moment and I relished the absence of his smirk. I glanced at my son and saw a glimmer of confusion underneath his mask. Unfortunately when I returned my gaze to Mr. Snyder he had reapplied his smirk and it appeared his balls too.  
  
"Your *son*," My eyes narrowed at the way he turned the description into a imprecation, "disrupted his French class. He used ill mannered and crude words in regards to the teacher, Mr. Martin, and his insubordinate attitude did irreparable harm to the student body's ability to learn." He ended his little tirade sounding smug as if he'd been waiting for this moment for a long time and was enjoying it immensely. He leaned back in his chair as if satisfied that he held all the cards. "Now, I realize that due to some, shall we say, *disreputable influences*-" I knew I wasn't imagining the emphasis he was putting on those words. He was trying to goad my son and from the flash of movement from the corner of my eye I could see it was working.  
  
"What did he say?" I interrupted. I could feel more than see Xander settle back into his chair and gave a internal sigh of relief for that. Snyder however looked pole axed. ^Guess he's not used to having his power trips broken up.^  
  
His recovery was quicker than I would have credited him with though as he leaned forward once more a frown on his face. "That doesn't really matter Mrs. Harris. What matters-"  
  
"I wish to know what my son supposedly said to this teacher, Martin was it?" Imperiously I tilted my head. "I believe it would be appropriate to know the specifics of the 'crime' before passing any type of judgment. Do you not?" The troll's face turned a rather fascinating shade of red and I somewhat pettily hoped that he would have a heart attack from the lack of oxygen. Alas, it was not to be. Pressing a button on a speaker situated on the right side of his desk next to his miniature guillotine paperweight, and wasn't that telling of his psyche?, he called on Peg and asked for the mysterious Mr. Martin. ^Should bother to learn her real name? Nah.^  
  
Taking no notice of the frigid atmosphere of the office I crossed my legs and leaned back as if I was at an afternoon tea. Realizing that Xander hadn't said a word during my "discussion" with his principal I casually rotated my head to look at him. Pride flared in my chest as I saw he had adopted the same royal authority I was flaunting. This prick of a man definitely didn't deserve to see fear.  
  
I turned back to the toad. He was starting to look a little uncertain. ^Concerned that we aren't blubbering is he?^ The door behind me creaked open and I watched all traces of worry clear from his face. ^I have to admit he's not bad at this.^ A whippet thin man in hideous clothes came around from behind me to stand parallel to the end of Snyder's desk. His pose was just as haughty as my own but I sneered within at his execution. Instead of coming off as regal he looked pompous.  
  
Snyder nodded at the man as a monarch does to acknowledge his inferiors. "Mr. Martin would you please tell us what exactly Mr. Harris here said in your class."  
  
The man turned red as if infuriated by the mere memory, it was absolutely horrid to look at. Orange, acid green, and red. Ugh. "First he said, 'Tu m'emmerdes.' Which means you are bugging the shit out of me. And then he said, 'Va te faire enculer'" I had to restrain myself from flinching away from Martin's flying spittle as he seemed to grow more and more furious. "That is 'go fuck yourself'." My eyebrow rose in spite of myself. Snyder just did his impression of the cat who stole the cream.  
  
"Of course you left out your own words Monsieur." Those ice sheathed words cut through Martin's righteous fury. His expression of moral superiority faltered but quickly recuperated. My son surged forward and for the first time ever I saw a look of deadly ferocity on his face. Frostbite nipped at my nose and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe it wasn't my imagination, that maybe Alexander was doing something to lower the temperature of the room. The thought barely had time to form before it was blown away. "After all you wouldn't want to call attention to the fact that I only said that after you called my mother a whore. 'Ta mère est une pute.' Was it?"  
  
With a deliberation that entirely forced I uncrossed my legs and stood. Snyder had turned pale and was staring at his teacher like a man whose dog just turned into a snake. Not a bad comparison actually I thought looking at the unrepentant skinny man. Dismissing him entirely I looked down on the Principal in his hollow throne. I had heard much worse in my years, in fact I had heard worse from my own husband, but to think that these *people* would dare prosecute my son for defending my honor. It bit like acid. "I assume that since this happened before a classroom of students, witnesses, I will encounter no argument in asking for this man's dismissal?" The idiot to my right jerked as the implications finally hit him. 


	24. Mussolini

Mussolini  
  
I looked into the guileless eyes of my son as he stood with me our backs to the vibrating, and poorly insulated I might add, door to the troll's office and didn't believe them for a second. It was amazing how he injected just the right amount of bovine into his irises to make himself look harmlessly stupid. ^The color probably helps. I heard that somewhere, easier to look stupid with brown eyes.^ Arching my brow I silently asked if he really thought *I* was stupid. I smirked when he looked away first. ^Guess not.^  
  
"You've heard me called worse things." Xander winced, or at least the right side of his face winced, at my mild tone and fidgeted. "Since Anthony was never quiet I'm sure you heard them?" He folded his arms across his red sweater and shifted his stance once more. I could tell I was striking a nerve. I tried to contain my smirk. He was off balance. Couldn't say I really blamed him. Wasn't yelling or interrogating, wasn't doing anything remotely parental, I was acting like a friend. One who was trying to dig into her friend's actions, sort them out, trim off the bullshit, and reassemble them so they made a minimum amount of sense. I couldn't, however, keep the hint of amusement from my next question, "Did you think my honor really needed defending?"  
  
Before I was glad that my son didn't tower over me, that I could look him in the eyes and see what he was trying to hide, now I wasn't quite so happy about it. If eyes are the windows to the soul than my son was deeply disappointed with me. My breath caught in my throat, "Xander- I-"  
  
"You just don't get it, do you?"  
  
There was a particularly shrill burst from beyond the door but it barely impinged on my consciousness as I stared into the face of my son. The sad thing was I really didn't understand why. I'd assumed- well actually I hadn't really known what to assume, but it never occurred to me that Xander was serious. Oh, I was certainly furious with the idiocy of trying to railroad my son for standing up for me, but to think he really felt the need to. It was just such an alien concept. Chivalry was supposed to be dead and rotting, heck I thought the corpse was hidden in our closet along with crossbows. Anthony had seemed to kill it with his very presence. Once Snyder the Troll had ejected us, politely despite all the teeth mashing, into the reception area to "confer" with his colleague I'd decided to determine why exactly I was here because I couldn't believe it was solely due to some ignoramus had calling me a whore. Now I was starting to regret my flippancy because apparently that *was* the reason, as amazing as that was. And I still couldn't comprehend why it was suddenly so important to my son. Fighting over something someone had said- I just couldn't wrap my brain around it and obviously that pained my son. He thought it was important and that was enough to make me wish I understood.  
  
I shook my head sadly. "I'm afraid I don't honey."  
  
"Words aren't harmless. If someone says something and no one does anything soon more people are saying it. Then you get a lot of people are saying the same thing, that's when stupid ideas don't sound so stupid anymore. Words can kill. They can kill because they give stupid people something to say. And then something to do." Fury flashed across chocolate eyes and fists clenched and unclenched. I knew my jaw was touching the floor, I did, but I didn't care. My son hadn't defied the powers that be for me, something I thought sort of pointless, he had done it for everybody on the planet.  
  
Deep in my chest my heart gave a squeeze as pride threatened to try and burst it. It was bittersweet pride though. I hadn't taught him that, would never have considered it even. He'd learned it anyway. ^That's my kid.^ Smiling I shook my head once more. "When did you get so smart?"  
  
Calming he whipped up a dazzler of his own. "When Woo Fong's opened downtown. Fortune Cookies man, they explain the universe." His shrug was eloquent and his delivery deadpan. I couldn't help the burst of laughter that erupted from my lips to echo strangely around the empty room. I didn't have a clue where Peggy Bundy'd gone to but with the quality of help my taxes were paying for she was probably on her forty-five minute fifteen- minute break.  
  
"Mrs. Harris." Snyder's nasal voice cut through the almost giddy atmosphere that had been created between us like a chainsaw. ^Dang. That man must be with the fun-police.^ I turned to look at the troll a little nonplussed that I hadn't heard the door open but not willing to show it and was amused to find that, yes he really was compensating for something. I had to look down a good five inches. Slipping back into my Queen of the Universe personality I raise an eyebrow and cocked my head not dignifying him as worthy of speech. The result was a slightly flustered little man. I mentally check another point under my name. Snyder wasn't doing so well in this little game of intimidation.  
  
"Ahem, if you would, ah join us we have things to discuss." Snyder's jerky movements combined with his no longer quite so neat and sharp looking executive's suit despite its lack of wrinkles made the man look nervous in a way I was sure he wasn't aware of. I crossed the threshold and was again inside the overly lavish office and heard behind me a rather clipped angry. "Not you." Then there was a slamming. ^Not willing to make it a fair fight, hmm.^ I smirked at the idea that Snyder was afraid of my son even subconsciously and casually tilted my head to watch him return to his chair. Once he was seated I looked at Mr. Martin. The man looked smaller, slightly deflated even, but still defiant. I could see the burning anger and resentment in his eyes and had to restrain my urge to stick out my tongue and cross my eyes. The man made the child in me want to throw a tantrum.  
  
A long drawn out squeal drew my attention back to the little man perched upon his leather throne leaned back causing an unoiled bearing to assault our ears. The flash of satisfaction that crossed the man's face let me know it was a power ploy. It made me wonder how much of his life was devoted to deriving sadistic pleasure from torturing those under his tyrannical thumb. ^Hmm, being a bit judgmental aren't we?^ I took another look around the office. ^Nope. Just more insightful than usual.^  
  
Snyder steepled his fingers and tried to look profound and self- sacrificing. He didn't wear it well. "Mrs. Harris I assume we can agree that both parties in this matter - have shall we say, 'transgressed'. While Mr. Martin did go over his bounds as a teacher-" Martin shot a glare at his ally. I could see that Martin thought he'd done nothing of the sort. Snyder continued as if he hadn't noticed, "but your son's insubordination was uncalled for. It could lead to other student disruptions, which are not tolerable." Eyes narrowed I thought I could see where this was going. "I believe that Mr. Martin should deliver a formal apology to you for his hasty words. I am willing to be lenient with Mr. Harris despite his record," Briefly I wondered what he was talking about, "and instead of expelling him as I intended I believe a week's worth of suspension is fair."  
  
Well that certainly got the blood boiling. ^Bad enough he wasn't even going to make the idiot apologize to my son! But expulsion, suspension even, over a little cursing? Either things have changed dramatically from my day he's trying to hang Xander out to dry.^ I shoved the question of why away for now and once more rose up a the righteous mother about to rain down my wrath. I thought I had made it clear that I wasn't going to let a flimsy title and some fancy well rehearsed words lull me into believing that the 'right thing was being done'.  
  
"Mr. Snyder." The man jerked forward at my subzero tone letting lose another squeal as his chair followed him. "If you think this attempt at... at *compromise*," I spat out the word, "will assuage my need for justice you are sorely mistaken. I will not let this verbally abusive, incompetent, excuse of a teacher be within a hundred yards of any classroom again. That you would even consider it makes me seriously question your integrity. When the *school board*," I emphasized the name of his bosses to remind him of my earlier threat, "hears of this I suspect that they will agree." With that said I turned on my heel ignoring the shocked face of Martin and the pinched face of Snyder and left the oppressive atmosphere of the office. I didn't slam the door. For one thing it hadn't done anything to me, for another I wouldn't give Snyder the satisfaction of showing him that his arrogant attitude made me anything other than contemptuous.  
  
Frowning I scanned the outer office, which had a decided lack of Xanders. ^Where in the heck is he?^ I started for the door since it was pretty obvious wherever he was it wasn't here. Hand on knob I stopped short as I heard his voice through the wavy clear Plexiglas with it's huge stenciled letters ECIFFO S'LAPICNIRP that paneled the top of the door.  
  
"- I telling you I'm fine Wills. Snyder hasn't gotten around to ripping me a new one yet. Mom's still in there arguing with him." I heard a rather feminine sigh, which surprised me because 'Wills' sounded like a man's name to me.  
  
"Xander, you're in major trouble. You know Snyder's pissed at us for hanging with Buffy." The voice matched my expectations of the sigher. Very feminine and mixed with the right amount of exasperation and love to show she, whoever she was, was his friend even though she thought he had done something unconscionably stupid.  
  
"It'll be fine. You know I've seen you less worried about the Apocalypse." He sounded fondly amused and that seemed just *wrong* with Apocalypse and what the heck did he mean by that.  
  
"I'm usually more forewarned." I heard a muffled smack. "What did you think you were doing?!"  
  
"I think I was calling an asshole what to do with himself. I could've said, 'Zhri govno i zdohni!' #Eat shit and die.# but I don't think he understands Russian." Silence followed my son's sardonic words. I have a lot of experience interpreting silences. The family get-togethers I gone to in England until I was ten- when Grandma Lindsey the matriarch of the family died releasing mom from even the obligation of facing our British relatives once a year- used be basically a bunch of long silences strung together. This one felt pained and shocked and I could tell my son regretted what he'd said.  
  
"Xander," I could barely hear the soft whisper and I realized I was almost pressed up against the door. A feeling of guilt swept through me. ^What am I doing?^ Releasing the knob I took a step back. However the girl on the other side inconsiderately regained her volume so my gesture was moot. "When did you learn to speak Russian? Or French for that matter? The last time Mr. Martin asked, 'Quelque chose tu besoin partages avec nous Etienne.' #Something you wish to share with us, Etienne?# You said, 'Mon oncle a un jeune stylo.' #My uncle has a yellow pencil.#"  
  
Admittedly I didn't understand a word of what either of them had said, I was never a language person despite all my world traveling, but I got the feeling this friend of my son was very surprised. My first thought on learning my son spoke French was 'how appropriate' but languages aren't hereditary.  
  
"Wills, I can speak fluently Latin, Spanish, French, Italian, and Russian." ^Cripes.^ "Soldier Boy came up with the weirdest hobbies when he was bored. There's not much you can really do locked in a ten by five room except watch tv and after a while even that can drive a guy insane. He started watching cartoons in other languages to learn them, that's how I know... well, all of them except Latin. Poor sucker went to Catholic school for Christ's sake." He paused then went on caustically, "I also now have a rampaging fear of rulers." And *I* now had about a dozen questions floating around in my head. Eavesdropping was bad bad of me and it hadn't even gotten me anywhere. The conversation had been Greek to me. ^And that's not even one of the languages my son speaks darn it!^ 


	25. Crash Course in Greek Needed

A/N: Sorry guys for the long wait, life's been hectic. Also sorry this chapter's so short. But I figured a little now is better than a lot later.  
  
Crash Course in Greek Needed  
  
Snort. "Its just God and his wacky sense of humor. Except for Latin I can't read any of them, however I *can* read Ancient Hieratic, Assamese- Which let me tell you is freaky enough on it's own, come on *Ass*amese, who comes up with these names- then there are the really freaky demon languages that sound like a cross between sneezing and choking to say. Those you can blame on G-man. I know you've probably got at least a dozen learned yourself. Voluntarily even." Following my son's words there was a silence.  
  
I found myself once again straining to hear. This time I dismissed my unease with chagrin. Obviously guilt wasn't enough to stop me listening, too many years of loose morals I think.  
  
Still I was shocked when Xander's friend said in strong and commanding voice, "During patrol tonight you are going to train." I was also frustrated. Another twist I couldn't figure out. Train what? And how'd she go from languages to *training*? ^Maybe this conversation would make more sense if I could see them? I mean it couldn't be more confusing could it?^  
  
"Wills-" In contrast my son's voice lacked all resolve and seemed more shaken than anything.  
  
"Xander," Her tone gentled, "Do you want what happened to that vampire last night to happen to a human?" ^Vampire? What?^ I was getting really exasperated now. Wasn't spying supposed to give you information? Not leave you with more questions?  
  
"I-" I was broken out of my fugue by the broken and young voice that said that single pronoun made me take step toward the knob. That was my son hurting. I felt a surge of emotion I never had before, not really, as my maternal instincts kicked in with a vengeance.  
  
"Martin?" Hand on the knob I paused. The animation had returned to Xander's voice, the edge I knew meant he'd regained his mental feet. Plus I couldn't figure what the jackass of a French teacher had to do with anything.  
  
"I was there Xander. You're lucky Buffy dosen't think you're possessed, again." Her tone was chiding and playful and I was completely confused and exasperated to use her wryly turned out word- again. I frowned at the door. ^If I didn't know *I* was the drug addict in the family I'd be wondering right now what exactly my kid was on and if he gets a discount with his friend as his supplier.^  
  
A bell rang and I could hear distantly doors opening and feet pounding.  
  
"I've got to get to class Xander. See you at eight at Northwood Rest?" The first sentence was warm and hurried, the second laced with the steel I was starting to suspect my son's friend wielded like a scalpel. Whatever he might have said in response was washed away in the rush of hundreds of rubber-soled feet on tile stampeding there way to class.  
  
Quickly before I could loose my nerve I tightened my grip on the knob and pulled the door open. My son swung around to stare at me startled. I narrowed my eyes when he quickly replaced his surprise with the eternally wry expression I was starting to recognize as a mask. He shifted slightly and I mentally raised my estimate of his situational awareness. The kid *knew* I wasn't buying it. I once again marveled at the skills he'd picked up while I wasn't looking. Okay, while I was off talking to the pink elephants in the bathroom.  
  
"Mom-" He quickly said in an effort to forestall me. It was eerily familiar. ^You know I think our last big revelation talk started out just like this.^  
  
Shaking my head I said, "You've got a lot of explaining to do kiddo." I glanced back at the door leading to the troll's cave then returned my gaze to my son. "Not here though." I stepped through the portal shutting the decal that basically said 'Abandon all hope ye who enter here' once translated into sanity behind me with a click. "There's no sound proofing." His face colored and his eyes widened at my barb.  
  
^My kid's not dumb. A little careless maybe, talking where anyone might hear,^ I chose to ignore that fact that I'd been shamelessly snooping, ^but not dumb. Right now if I was him I'd be wondering how much I'd heard and how much I could get away with lying about. Demons and vampires, this is going to be one heck of an explanation.^  
  
Confidently, or at least trying to act that way, I made my way down the once again deserted halls towards the parking lot. I shivered. ^The kids at this school must be invisible. I haven't seen one yet other than my own. Just heard them, like ghosts.^ Xander didn't say anything on our walk, which I found slightly odd because even my foggy memories said he was a talker. However I was queerly reassured by the soft thud of his footfalls slightly out of sync with my own.  
  
They were proof that he was indeed following. Something that I wasn't so sure he would do. Even though Xander seemed to accept me I knew he still had to be harboring some resentment for the way I wasn't there for him in the past. He'd have to be a saint to not be.  
  
Pushing the right double door open I let out a sigh of relief when a breeze brushed across my face. ^I hate schools.^ I continued walking till I was standing next to the rust bucket I laughing refer to as my car. ^Stalling isn't getting me anywhere.^ Despite all my analogies, and boy did I come up with some dozzies when I was nervous, I knew I had to have this talk- after all I was the one who'd asked for it. ^I'm a royal idiot. Couldn't I have played selective hearing?^ Sigh. ^No. I want to be part of Xander's life, not the absentee person I've been. If that means humoring insanity or worse- Well it won't be the first time my relatives made my life interesting.^  
  
When I looked up I found my son standing nervously on the passenger side of the car. My mother had few pictures of my father, mostly I think because the dear lord didn't want there to be any evidence for his wife's divorce lawyer, but in the one I kept in my bureau draw he was wearing a smile that at times like these I shared. It was a touch nasty and full of cocky self- assured badassnes. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about a crossbow in the closet would you?" 


	26. Damn the Torpedoes

**Damn the Torpedoes**  
  
Xander's expression flickered for a second before smoothing back into a goofy grin. "It's a prop from the school play."  
  
I gave him kudos for delivery and semi-logicalness. In fact if I hadn't heard him a minute ago talking about demons and vampires with the same amount of sincerity I probably would have fallen for it. But I'd held that crossbow. It was a weapon, something meant to do damage, something that **had **done damage if what I interrupted from my son's conversation was right. Although I probably could have interpreted that the moon was made of cheese from that self-same conversation.  
  
For a moment I was struck by the insanity of this. I was standing in a school parking lot looking like so much white trash in my denim dress. He was in red, which for some reason struck me as something that would have been appropriate in a Harlequin novel, and I wasn't going to let him get away with fobbing me off on a explanation most people would readily accept rather than mess up their perfect view of their children. They want to see their John as the perfect American boy with only girls and baseball on his mind_. But I'd rather have the imperfect view and really **know **my son. I haven't known him for so long.  
  
_Shaking my head ruefully, at myself mostly, still smiling I snarked. "So Little John, when did Sherwood Forest become infested with vampires?"  
  
He shrugged laconically. As if he was more comfortable now, under pressure, than when he was waiting for it. "The script writer's an aspiring Goth."  
  
I snickered. "Okay, that was a good one. Got any more?"  
  
"Ah, the cat ate my homework and Principal Snyder is a fuzzy bunny?"  
  
The mental picture of Snyder in his wannabe suave suit furry gray paws sticking out the ends, white incisors hanging down past his pointy fur covered chin, with scraggly darker gray ears drooping down behind him and beady little eyes alight with hellish glee out from under puffy white cheeks popped into my head. _Agh. Need brain soap.  
  
_I glared at my son. "I really didn't need that mental image."  
  
The smile I got in return reminded me of his father, it was that crooked smug I-gotya smile. I could picture him as it was yesterday. Him leaning against an old crumbling brick wall, standing on the cobblestones of New Orleans' French Quarter, hands in his beat up jean pockets, giving me that grin under sparkling red on black eyes. Feeling decidedly sentimental and soppy I reached out and touched the half turned up corner of his mouth with my index finger. "That's your father's grin. He always did that when he'd pulled one over on somebody." I looked straight into my son's brown eyes I kept my tone gentle but I had to ask. "Why are you trying to pull one over on me?"  
  
He turned his head away no longer smiling.  
  
That hurt. It felt so much like rejection... I don't think I'd ever really been rejected before. When I was a young fool I always surrounded myself with other young fools who only cared that I was pretty and had money. When I grew older, I couldn't say I grew up because frankly I didn't do that, I surrounded myself with people who just wanted my money and a husband who just wanted someone to beat on. No one ever turned away from me. Everybody always wanted something from me. And for once **I **was the one asking, begging for him to love me, to look my way.  
  
Silence dragged on. I couldn't find the words. I just stood there staring, as Xander's jaw muscles grew more and more coiled.  
  
"Let's just go home." My son's voice was quietly cold and remote.  
  
It was like a sudden chasm had split the earth between us, with him on one side and me the other. We weren't even feet apart yet I felt like I couldn't reach him. And I realized I had to say something, anything, or this would be it. It didn't matter if it was the wrong thing, if it made him mad or disappointed, because if I did nothing- if I got in the car and drove us home then I would be adding one more stupendous mistake to the pile of them cluttering my closet.  
  
"And what would happen then?" My voice shook a little but I took heart when he glanced at me out of the corner of my eye. "Pretend nothing happened? I heard you talking to that girl. You- you hunt vampires. And demons. And the boogeyman for Christ's sake!" I was on a roll now and barely noticed that Xander was once again facing me.  
  
Suddenly everything that had been under the surface, everything that had hung in the background of every talk every moment alone together, the dirty fermenting guilt, shame, horror, and -damn it- poisonous truth grabbed my vocal cords no longer content to be ignored. "I'm **fucking **bad mother!" I spat it out with all the self-disgust that ate away at my insides and made me sick to my stomach. "I've fucked and I've drank. I've done a fucking pharmacy worth of drugs. I'm one of the most self-centered bitches in this fucking state! And with Hollywood right next door that's really saying something."  
  
My laugh was a hollow thing that sent shivers down my spine but I couldn't stop now. Brown eyes stared at me in shock, rending my heart. "Sometimes I even forgot you existed. God, I've seen your door Xander. All those locks. How many nights did you go to sleep scared because Mommy wasn't going to protect you from the monsters?" My son's face hardened and a faint blush spread across his cheeks. He was embarrassed. The implications of that stabbed me. A cool tickle on my own cheek was a tear slowly making its way down. "I can't-"I closed my eyes and turned away. Hastily I scrubbed away the tear trail that burned my cheek. "I can't undo all that." I swallowed the snot clogging my throat and opened my eyes trying to stop the itch of forming tears. "I'm your Mother. I was supposed to protect you. I didn't. I was supposed to be there for you. I wasn't." More than a little afraid of what I might see I turned back around. He made an abortive hand gesture toward me; it was fluttery and unsure and I tried not to read too much into it. "You're not a little boy Xander. I know 'I'm sorry' just won't cut it." I shut my eyes for a long moment then forced them open again. "I'm so sorry." His features softened a little.  
  
Taking a deep breath I gathered my courage. "I'm here now. I'll support you through whatever this is. Not to make it up to you, that's impossible and I haven't killed enough brain cells to believe I can, but because I love you. Just let me in." Heart pounding in my chest, light headed and more than a little desperate I put my whole body into the plea. 


	27. Part VI: Xander

Part VI: Xander

**Full Speed Ahead **  
  
Maybe growing up on the Hellmouth does something to you, takes away something fundamental, takes away your sense of reality. When you're a kid it dosen't occur to you. You're happy go lucky; just moving through your life at the speeds on kids can manage. Then **BLAM**! Out of nowhere some says something, or looks at you funny, and you get all self-conscious and awkward. And angry. Because you were happy before, because you were **happy**.  
  
I'm so screwed up. My mother was radiating pain, shame, hunger, need, and love. In my head I could practically touch the midnight blue, mud brown, plum, and canary yellow swirls. They weren't real. I **knew **that. But. At the same time I halfway believed they were. It was like the games Willow, Jesse, and I used to play when we were kids. We knew it was all our imagination but at the same time it was so fun that... that we believed just so it wouldn't go away. Like with Tinkerbell. I was a champion clapper. Just call me Clapper Xander, able to bring fairies back to life in thirty seconds or less or your money back.  
  
The colors though- they'd been there my whole life. They were just something I ignored. I took a deep breath. They were a figment of my Hellmouthy demented mind. I knew that. I figure I just got off light as far a psychosises went. It'd sure explained why people would voluntarily stay in this burg. The thing was I wanted to believe them. They felt real.  
  
_Of course lunatics believe they're sane too.  
_  
My mother had the most delicate hands, thin, long, and porcelain white. I looked at those hands and couldn't remember them ever striking me.  
  
There were others ways to hurt someone.  
  
Like she said I remember nights hiding in my room praying for those hands to stop someone else's'. They never did. It would be oh, so easy to hate her. To give into emotions I'd been denying my whole life. There was a good reason that I sank so deep into my clownish-ness.  
  
Oh, yeah there was. I didn't want to turn into evil. Not just the evil I learned about when I played eavesdropper and lost one of the best people to ever walk into my life, but the evil that looked at me with dead eyes and whose touch could burn. The last few days had seen me with more sobriety than I'd indulged since I realized at the age of five that a smile no matter how small made the pain and the hate retreat if even just a little.  
  
That part of me, the part who remembered all those years and still remained despite all my laughter, wanted to hurt her, make her bleed a little the way she'd left me to bleed. Nasty and full of righteousness it was. It wanted to scream and beat my fists against the pavement till they were bloody, until I couldn't feel anything anymore. It was rage and hate and fear. Lessons learned at the hands of men who knew exactly how to twist to break. It was that part of me I firmly squashed and ground down before I looked up into my mother's face.  
  
She really was a pretty lady. Heart shaped face and rich dark brown hair topped off with a petite figure. Right now she didn't look so hot. Her face was splotchy with red spots and -her eyes were puffy from the tears streaming down her face that she no longer even tried to wipe away. For a long moment I just stared at her. Drinking in the knowledge that she really did care. That it wasn't just wishful naiveté from a kid who believed what his delusions told him because he desperately wanted his Mommy.  
  
I took a deep breath. This was going to be hard and I knew it. The truth was I didn't have a clue to what exactly I was going to say. I just wasn't that much of a planner, but I knew this: I loved her. Despite all the bad years and despite all the rough road ahead. Just go with the truth.  
  
I opened mouth and just let out the first thing that rolled of the edge of my brain spill out. "I know what you've done Mom. Surprisingly enough I lived through most of it." She winced at my brutal honesty. I pressed on. "Perhaps I'm not the brightest crayon in the box but I still love you. I just don't know where to go from here. I stopped trying. I was calling and you weren't listening. Now suddenly you want those baseball games," I noticed her jerk slightly at those words but I wasn't sure what the significance of baseball was, "and ice cream cones we never shared. You want me to let you in- and I'm not sure if I can trust you."  
  
Discomfited I stumbled to a halt. It was the truth. Truth I'd acknowledged long before this. Unlike Anthony I didn't fear and loathe this woman. She'd made plenty of mistakes. I couldn't forget that. Forgive, yes, but not forget. That was what held me back. Could I trust a recovering drug addict with the secrets of my life? I wasn't sure. Regular parents couldn't handle it, how could I trust her to?  
  
For a moment we stood frozen like statues amongst a forest of cars. My eyes widened. I swept the area. All around me were the Pintos, Volvos, and- yep over there as far away from the masses of the peons' pitiful attempts at freedom as possible- a small sea of expensive Cadillacs, BMWs, and a cherry red Mustang convertible. I groaned inwardly.  
  
In the middle of the school parking lot! In midday! _Fuck, I'm an idiot! This is not the place to hold family feud! Christ. Snyder's office is twenty feet from here! He can see us!  
  
_"I understand."  
  
_Whah? _My attention snapped back on my Mom. Mentally I backed up. _We were having a dramatic heart wrenching moment here_. I almost snorted. Somehow in my panic over my letting our asses flap out in the wind the showdown had lost it's all consuming importance. Tension gone I suddenly just wanted to get out of the open and back home.  
  
But my Mom looked grim, sort of determined, oddly relieved, and we still weren't moving.  
  
Hoping to close the issue I found myself saying. "The Dog's asleep. Let's leave it lie. Its got an nasty bite." _It's the fangs.  
_  
Her eyes latched onto mine with an intensity I didn't like. "I'm not sure I can. Vampires? Possessions? Sounds like I'll be holding your head the morning after or helping you hide the bodies. I know too much to ignore this. I understand you don't really trust me, frankly it reassures me that drugs don't do damage by association, but my natural curiosity isn't going to let this lie."  
  
Groaning I covered my face with my hands. _Now I know how Giles felt when I butted in on his 'Slayer's Destiny' deal_.  
  
Flinging my hands down I glared at Mom not really angry now just frustrated. I wanted out of here. I wanted to go back to ignoring this. I was very good at denial. She wasn't going to let me put that well learned skill to use though. I could see it in every line of her body. Already she'd pursed this through brick walls and enough pain to drop an elephant. _My Mom, the pit bull.  
  
_"Fine. You want to know. Just fine. My life, it's screams and games of cat and mouse. Only I'm the mouse and I'm chasing the cat with a pointy stick." Swallowing I finished. "Vampires, demons," I snorted, "the boogeyman. They're all real and I fight them every night. You want in. Well, that's what you got. A dirty, scared, vampire hunting kid."  
  
Mom froze for a second. "Wh-hoa." She swallowed and raised an equally shaky hand to pull on her hair. Then focusing back on my face she asked plaintively, "Really?"  
  
I nodded quickly trying to contain my anxiousness. She hadn't run screaming, laughed, or called for the men in white coats like I'd half expected she would despite what she'd heard before as well as said. _Hey, I already acknowledged I don't trust her. Why do I feel guilty?  
_  
"Well shit."


	28. VI: b,c,d,e,f,g

A/N: After forever I have written more. Hope you enjoy.

For those asking when Remy is going to show, hurrah for you! Inpending Gambit e.t.a very soon.

Oh, and for all you who don't know I was nominated and White Knight Awards for best crossover. (Did I work that in subtlely enough?;) Please vote for me. Please. At 

VI: (b) Elisabeth

**Play it Again Sam**

My son looked old, old and hardened, and the look in his eyes... They weren't the eyes of innocence for darn sure. I tried to deny it, to rationalize it away, but I couldn't. My son wasn't deluded or hopped up on drugs. He was fighting monsters. Real monsters. Monsters are real.

"Well shit." The words came out harsh and leaden.

But what else was there to say? 'Let's go find a nice rubber room where you can't hurt yourself.' This was real. This was fucking **real.**

_How did this happen? Demons are supposed to be fairy tales. When'd they come out of the closet?_

Scared. He said he was scared. That meant- it meant bad things. What I've seen of my son leads me to believe he's no coward. Fear gripped me with icy fingers. I don't know much about vampires but in the movies humans usually end up as puddles of blood or as scattered body parts, a lot of humans. _No. no. no. He's too young. He can't vote. He can't drink. He can't even die for his country yet!_

Demands hovered on my lips. 'No. No more. You're to young. It's too dangerous. You'll stop this right now.' They died swiftly leaving ash in my mouth. He wouldn't listen. It was there in his eyes; in the past I could see trailing behind him. It was in the family curse that had led me here to this.

"Why?" Fear made my voice small. "Why do you fight these things?"

My son's smile was reckless. "I don't like them." He glanced back at the school. "Come on Mom. Let's go home."

Nodding dumbly with shock I followed him to the car. _Because he dosen't like them?!_

VI: (c) Snyder

**Check For Nazis**

_This isn't how things were supposed to go._ I glared at Martin. The fool didn't even have the brains to wince. Not even after the earlier browbeating I'd given him. _Idiot._ This could have turned out so well. Breaking up the Summers gang would have made the school much safer. _Now I have to salvage this before the Mayor finds out and has my hide._

"I want your resignation on my desk by the end of the day." Shock replaced arrogance and for a moment I reveled in wiping the smug grin off the asshole's face.

"You can't do this!" He squawked. "Not over some whore and her bastard!"

"You know I don't care what you say to those snots. But you did it in front of a classroom of witnesses!" I shouted.

He waved his hand dismissively. "They're ignorant children. Not a one will know what I said."

I refrained from pointing out that he was supposed have taught them that. "Harris did." Martin turned beat red. "I'll have your resignation or this time the School Board will have your license."

Martin rose stiffly and stalked off in what I imagine he thought was a furious manner but instead resembled a chicken flapping its wings. I glowered after him. _Fool. He'll never get another job. Not after being fired from three schools, one where he had tenure even._

Turning my gaze on my phone I contemplated the odds of Joanne actually being at her desk. The temp who had replaced the reliable Mrs. Winter, a woman who hadn't missed a day in her twenty years of service until she went missing two weeks ago, was as flaky as Summers. Which meant I had to start the search for another scraped of the bottom off the barrel teacher myself. Picking up the receiver I dialed a phone number I had memorized in my days as Vice Principal. Swinging my chair to face the window as I listened to the dial tone I saw the Harrises having an argument in the parking lot. _Well then. It wasn't a total loss._

The phone stopped ringing and I swung back around. "This is Principal Snyder of Sunnydale High." I heard a snort and shot my eyes above pleading for patience. "Yes, again. We need-"

VI: (d) Elizabeth

**As Time Goes By**

Halfway home I snapped out of my daze. Turning my head I glared at my son. "Because you don't like them?! What in the hell kind of reason is that?!!"

Wide eyes stared back at me. "Um, a good one?" I glared at him. A loud blare sounded and I switched may gaze back to the road in time to jerk the wheel right. I heard the quiet click of his seat belt being fastened and a muttered, "fight denizens from hell and a Chevrolet is going kill me, great."

A wry twist curled my lips. _God. That's my kid. Smartass with a hero complex. _An instinctual quiver of fear accompanied my pride with another spurt of 'he's too young!' but I pushed it down. Still, part of me was suspicious that this was some huge joke, that any minute now Xander was going to say, "Surprise you're on Candid Camera." Part of me wanted that to be true though the leaden feeling in my stomach said it wasn't.

Shaking my head to clear it I remembered, "Oh yeah, your crossbow's in the back." I saw him jerk out of the corner of my eye and look back. "Darn thing nearly took my head off."

"Greatness. G-man's going be pleased. Been bugging me for weeks about it. Guess the Sock Demons didn't get it after all."

"Sock? Demons?" I couldn't keep the shock out of my voice. Demons are icky things with slime and claws. The thought of a rampaging gym sock just- didn't work. What'd it kill you with? Odor? My mind stalled.

"Yeah, you know the ones who always take the other sock."

I groaned. "Gah." _God. That's my kid._

VI: (e) Xander

**Transit Letters**

Nothing surprised me more than when my mom reached over with her right hand and smacked the back of my head. "You Mister are terrible." Harassed laughter could be heard in her words.

I sat in shock for a moment. _I can't believe she did that._ Then a smile bloomed on my lips. Worry still hovered in the back of my mind but it was overshadowed at this very moment. Happiness, simple happiness, was singing Hey Didy Didy in my heart. This was a good moment. When I was scared and weary and I knew the world was going to come to a fiery crashing end I knew I'd remember this and keep fighting. "Piffle. Terrible is for amateurs. I, Madam, am a professional."

We pulled into our drive and she turned trying to scowl at me but I could see the laughter twinkling in her eyes. "Guess that makes you horrendous then." Before I could say anything she was out of the car and headed into the house. I watched her go and my smile slowly faded.

She was probably still in shock.

Oh, I figure she's accepted it intellectually but you don't really **get** it until you look into the eyes of something that is going to kill you and realize it dosen't even rate you as something worth thinking about. It dosen't really strike you until after you've killed them. Til you watch their death. Watch as they crumble into a dust pile that mixes with the air and blows away. Before that it's like a story and you think everyone's going to make it because the good guys always win, right? Closing my eyes for a moment as I felt the old familiar grief. _Jesse._

Unlocking my seatbelt I twisted around and grabbed the handle of the crossbow. With a tug I pulled it up into view. Holding it there in my left hand I just looked at it. Medieval weaponry in modern form, refined and made with better materials and as deadly as ever. Giles taught me how to fire it. How to hit something and make it stay down. Made him rub his glasses frantically when I told him he was corrupting a minor. Turns out I was almost a good a shot as Buffy. Giles said I had a natural eye for it in a resigned tone that implied he expected me to put an arrow somewhere he knew he didn't want one. A brief grin crossed my face as I remembered some of the pranks that had flitted at through my mind when I swung the thing around.

Still I am a good shot. That's why I had the crossbow. There was a nest of More-titties, Mare-tummies. M something or others wanted to have a little party in the woods. Of course their guests weren't too happy to be there, the music was circa 12th century monastery, the entertainment consisted mainly of the old evil villain pep rally speech, and the food... Let's just say the May-trippers had no concept of fine cuisine. Luckily we brought our own food, we didn't want to mooch after all, and it was all very nutritious, full of iron. Willow and I brought the porcupine special, Buffy and Angel the three-foot longs, and Giles the head splitter- not alchol just an axe.

Between the work out and the pain from my cracked ribs- George and I have a lot in common when it comes to trees- I was wiped. Maybe Anthony was throwing his own party, maybe I was just delirious, but for some reason I must have thought it was a good idea to stash it in the closet. The next morning I woke up and all I could find were the bolts squashed under the bed. For a while Giles has been pestering me about it. Never thought to look for it in the closet, there could be a Gila monster living in there for all I knew. Since I was a little kid I've never opened that closet. There's this creepy mirror... well obviously I did open it or how else would the bow have gotten in there? _Thank heavens Mom found it_. I wasn't looking forward to paying G-man back for the "lost book".

Taking my "book"- How to Maim for Dummies- with me I climbed out of the car and headed for the house. I wasn't too worried about what I looked like; Sunnydale syndrome has its advantages.

I was half way up the stairs to my room when-

"Xander."

One hand full and the other on the railing I twisted my head to look down at Mom. "Yeah?"

She bit her lip shifting from foot to foot and reached up to pull on a bang. Then she released it definitatively and stilled. _Oh, oh. Wonder if I should take cover. _"I just want you to know," her voice had dropped a few octaves and she paused to take a deep breath, "I just want you to know I love you and I'm proud of you. Just in case..."

Colorado replaced my Adams' Apple and I had trouble swallowing around it. "Thanks Mom." I choked out. She nodded solemnly her eyes unnaturally shiny with what I suspected were unshed tears. We stood there frozen for what seemed like forever. _Guess she got it more than I thought._ There was fear for me in her words and I can't imagine how hard it was for her to say them, it took more guts than I thought she had- more than I some times have because rejection is one of the scarest things I've ever faced, but after seventeen years of wondering it was nice to actually hear them even if it did remind me I was going to leave a pretty corpse.

Gathering myself from the puddle of mush I' been reduced to I nodded back breaking the temoltuous connection holding us. I turned and continued up the stairs. I took my hand from the railing and dug into my pocket retrieving the address Willow had gotten for me. _Well Gramps I hope you have a good heart. I'm writing you a letter while my luck still holds._

VI: (f) Buffy

**Aisle Five**

Clothes lay strewn about me. My room looked like the aftermath of a closeout sale. I'd finally decided on the black dress that didn't scream ho but at the same time showed off all my assests. Not that I was worried about how Ford would think I looked. No. I went through every outfit in my closet every night. _Yeah, sure. _I glanced at my watch. _No time to clean up. I'm late! _Rushing I grabbed my purse and bee-lined for the door.

Mom yelled something at me as I rushed past but I didn't hear her and if she asked later that's exactly what happened.

Outside the door I paused to open my purse, checking for all the defensive nessecities. Stake, holy water, silver letter opener, lipstick, eyeliner, compact, yep all there. As I walked along the well trod path to the Bronze I took a quick look for baddies but didn't look too close. Tonight was a night for impressing former would-be-boyfriends with what got away and maybe making current boyfriend jealous so he'd stop chasing older brunettes. I frowned quickening my walk to a stalk. _Angel better have a good explaination for Mrs. Just-Beginning-Lady-In-the-Park._

VI: (g) Angel

**Stay With Me**

Drusilla. Screams followed her name. I shivered trying to turn away from the memories. Making her I bathed in blood and destroyed with artistic style I gloated in. Twisted, cracked, insane and I had done it to her cut by cut. Angelus shaping her like a rough gem.

She was still beautiful. Still my childe, my responsibility, my family. It hurt to see her knowing with all my soul that I can't help her or stop her. My demon objected to the very idea and I flinched as the monster threw its contempt at me.

Entering the Bronze I flinched for an entirely different reason. '90's music tried to make up for lack of quality by pumping up the volume. Scents flitted through the air. Musk, sweat, desire, the result of packing hormonal teenagers in a small enclosed space. It made Angelus rattle his cage. He would have loved to add the coppery smell of blood and fear to the air full burning youth. Yet it was one of the few places where I could reliably find Buffy. Tonight I desperately need her to stave off the encroaching dark.

Drifting through the scantily clad I made my way to the bar. I caught the eye of the bartender, "Scotch." He looked me over, decided I was old enough, and retrieved a glass and bottle from beneath the counter. I dropped a five and picked up the glass waving him off when he tried to hand me the change. Money wasn't a concern for me Angelus was good at investing his victims assets. Taking a sip I let the burning liquid distract me as I scanned the crowd for Buffy and the others.

Over by the pool tables I spotted Willow and Xander. They were talking to some dark haired boy I didn't recognize. A flash of light on blonde hair declared Buffy's approach to them I watched her stop and their smiling faces turn to her. Laughter reached my ears even over the roar of the band's supposed lyrics and I took another sip of scotch. They looked so young and carefree if my heart still beat it would have turned over in ache. How could I compete with that. Over there was life I was just an animated corpse with a history of death and destruction.

Buffy left her friends and began making her way to the bar. I watched her approach with my usual mix of fear, nervousness, and pleasure. She looked beautiful and strong as she walked with assurance through those she was chosen to protect. My demon jeered at me for my sentimentality but I ignored it focusing on the girl.

Our meeting was awkard and left me confused. Following her back to her friends I tried to think of what could have left her so cold to me. Meeting her old friend I couldn't help but feel more out of place. The feeling that there was an invisible sign over my head that everyone could read but me crept up my spine. Some of Ford's reactions were just off. Even Xander seemed to be in on it, though it was hard to tell because the boy was always antagonistic towards me, watching Ford and me with something very like veiled suspicsion. After Buffy forsake me for Ford departing the Bronze I melted away leaving Willow and Xander to their life and pool. Buffy obviously wasn't going to talk to me, there was no reason to stay. Angelus and Drusilla mocked me with every step as I walked through the night.


	29. h,i,j

A/N: First I have to say sorry for the extremely long wait. I don't know what to say other than I need to whip my muses. Second, I was planning on more for my next chapter and that is why I've held off so long more recently but I thought those of you who've been waiting might like a little Christmas present. This chapter is quite late but I'm going to try better for the next one. Third, all Angel fans out there I am just frappéing him a little not sautéing. Fourth, I know I promised more Gambit and I'm naughty this year and lied. Nothing but coal for me. 

VI: (h) Xander

**Black Velvet**

_Velvet and lace as far as the eye can see. _The dress code required for the place was frightening even without the vampire worshipping. Staring at everything like an idiot, I ignored the dim muttering sneering voice of my once-upon-a-time father that popped up in the back of my mind. I just couldn't help it._ There must not be a single bottle of black nail polish left on the shelves of Sunnydale._

_Compared to these people my dress sense if positively bland. How freaky is that? _

To tell the truth they freaked me out in a lot of ways. They reminded me of lemmings just racing for the cliff. It's going to kill them but they still wanted to get there.

Surviving in Sunnydale comes down to two things: lots of luck and knowing when something is dangerous even if you have to come up with some mundane 'gangs on PCP' reason, because of course you can't admit there is anything dangerous to watch out for. Looking back it explains my decision not to join the Boy Scouts troop, the Little League, the School Choir, just about any large group of people because hey, even demons recognize smorgasbord signs. The fact that I didn't want to end up looking like a geek had nothing to do with it.

Ford was starting to look either pretty stupid or pretty dangerous or maybe just like a stupid dangerous pretty boy. He knew about vampires so what the hell was he doing in a Donor Club? The dude had given me serious creeps the moment I meet him. But other than tweaking him trying to get him to react I hadn't done much. Definitely didn't mention it to the girls. If gone to them with "creeps" they'd translate it into "I'm a jealous fool and I don't like Buffy liking other Boy". Angel could pull it off of course. Probably looked all soulful and Willow folded like a cheap house of cards.

True, I still thought Buffy was hot but one day sadly enough I turned around and she'd been regulated to the same 'sister' category as Willow. Being her friend had let me get close enough to get to know and love her and I'd found I did. Love her. But I wasn't **in** love with her. Which sort of sucks because she's a great girl, just the type I want to fall in love with_. Big heart. Big boo- Ugh._ I definitely didn't want to complete that thought. My luck there'd be a thought reading demon in the vicinity.When I look at her these days though I don't see a possible mate. I see someone whose toenails I painted licorice pink and let put pigtails in my hair at a slumber party.

_And at that point I was pretty sure I should change my name to Alexandria. _I mentally grimaced at the memory. It says a lot that Mrs. Summers doesn't even think twice about me sleeping in her daughter's room. Just what it says I'm not sure I want to know but I know there's a caption in there somewhere.

As we backed our way out of the milling pit of lemmings one of the Wannabes bumped into my arm I turned to apologize and he hissed at me flashing fake fangs at my chin. Since he was about half a foot shorter than me. The reflex to laugh warred for a moment with my desire to rant at him for his stupidity. I clamped down on both impulses. If I started laughing I was afraid I'd never stop and if I yelled at the lemmings they wouldn't hear me. They thought the cliff was a big shiny resort with free drinks on the hour. The fact that one of them knew it was big ugly death with free answers to the universe included at the pearly gates made my stomach queasy.

VI: (i) Buffy 

Frog Princes

When I was a little girl I used to dream of a prince on white stead charging in, fighting the dragon and carrying me off to live happily ever after. Like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman without the becoming a hooker part. I never imagined me saving the day and a group of Goth vamp-fans while I locked my prince, who was actually the evil villain type guy in disguise, in the basement to be eaten by the dragons, or vampires, monsters by any other name kill just as dead.

Resting my hands for a minute against the patched together steel door my childhood friend had wielded in place to create a human roach motel I swallowed my tears. _I can't break down now. _Pushing of from it I turned to my friends. Xander, Willow, and Angel, my other would be prince hiding a monster inside. _That's not fair. He's not a monster. _I heard myself telling them we'd come back later for Ford. _He's a _demon.

Depressed with only my duty left to keep me from collapsing into a puddle of tears I told Willow I'd take her home. It's not a good time for someone as tasty looking as her to be walking home even if a greater part of the Sunnydale blood sucking population was trapped in a basement. I shared a glance with Angel. He mostly hid his wince.

VI: (j) Angel

**Shaken and Stirred**

Of all the humans I have known in the twentieth century none confuse, aggravate, and just plain get under my skin the way Xander Harris manages. Being around him is like being next to a loose high voltage wire. Not a good position. I know. I lived under a subway station in San Francisco for a few years during the mid 60's living off rats and avoiding temptation.

Walking beside him as an unasked for escort I couldn't help but wonder when he was going to fry me. Every moment of silence just dragged on the suspense. _The boy can never stop talking. Even when he's possessed. _The air around him was electrified and his walk was the contained walk of the terribly angered. Yet, he hadn't thrown a barb or made a joke since we had arrived to late to help Buffy deal with her- friend? Betrayer? Other than the usual grimace he didn't even make any complaints about having to be in my presence.

After running into Drusilla the other day his disapproval rubbed like salt in an open wound. Looking at the ruined beauty of my creation I couldn't help but feel that I deserved the contempt that even in silence I could hear loud and clear. Resignation and depression weighed heavily on me.

Feeling more than a little masochistic I courted the despair in the deepest parts of my soul thinking that the boy would only confirm my own dark thoughts. "Go on. Say it already. I know you're dying to."

Xander stopped dead in his tracks. My momentum carried me forward for a little while. I turned around and found the hardest expression I had ever seen on his face directed at me.

"Angel," For such a quiet voice I could hear him clear as a bell, "the last thing you're qualified to do is guess what I want." He started walking again passing by me as if I was below notice.

His reaction was completely unexpected. His attitude catching me totally off my guard. Irritated I mocked his back. "It's obvious. You never liked me. You were always jealous of me. Come on you're dying to makes some vampire jokes."

When Xander halted again something was different. I hadn't needed to breathe in over two hundred years but still somehow in that moment I felt myself laboring to suck in a breath. Danger zinged in the air and I realized that the live wire I had been incautious of was actually a lightening bolt. The dark seemed to close in on us and I found myself wondering if I could find somewhere to dodge.

"You know Angel," Xander's voice was deadly calm, "I never was one to beat my head on a brick wall." He turned to look back at me. "Fist maybe but I have too few brain cells to endanger on stupid activities." I wasn't sure where he was going but I often felt that way around him. I did get the impression that talking to me was what he considered a 'stupid' activity. "Fighting the good fight that's different. Even a pebble can make a crack. Maybe the next pebble will break that damn brick. And I think I've run that analogy into the ground."

_That sounds more like Xander._

Suddenly the heat and passion I'd been expecting from the beginning was there. "Fuck, I don't do eloquent speeches." He swung fully around and marched towards me. Fire in his eyes and a nasty grin on his face. A hard finger poked me in the chest. "You're like those lemmings back there." He waved in the direction of the warehouse of the vampire lovers. I opened my mouth to protest angry myself now. He cut me off before I could breathe in the air to fuel my voice. "No. You're so convinced what you know is right you don't think. Nothing I say is going to get through. You're an idiot and a coward. You take the easy way out."

The growl that resonated up from my chest was involuntary. I was evil and dangerous. I was damned and often remorseful. What Xander was accusing me of I wasn't. My demonic instincts were growling unhappily. _He didn't even step back._ An inner voice pouted.

"Ah, ah. You wanted me to say this. I'm going to say it. YOU ARE THE CURSE YOU IDOIT. You, Liam." Surprise briefly over came anger that he knew my real name. "The gypsies didn't give a crap about you, some drunken fop who died from blood loss instead of cirrhosis of the liver." He rolled his eyes. "Puh-lease. Give them some credit. They knew enough about magic to know that the soul isn't even there. They wanted ANGELUS to pay. Every time you've got a happy the demon feels bad. You caged it and won't let it play. You make its existence a living HELL! Or at least you should. No you mope and pity yourself. Damn it. You have Angelus's memories. He got off on making people suffer what do you think your pain is for him? Alcohol. Keeps it from feeling the pain of not being in control."

Bile filled my mouth. _No. Its not possible._ Suddenly my whole world was out of whack. _I'm supposed to be paying for- my sins. My?_ Lost in thought I would have missed the next part if he hadn't shouted it.

"YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE!" Of course that confused me more. _Didn't he just say? _Another poke. This time harder. "Not for what the demon did but for making it pay." I felt sheepish and whip lashed. "Whipping it till it wishes it never stepped foot on this air-conditioned vacation from hell."

"Oh, and here's another bit of stupidity. You don't love Buffy." _Now he's gone too far. _I saw red back on firm ground knowing he was just jealous. I started to protest again his next words snapped my mouth shut. That and the sort of pitying half sympathetic look on his face. "You love the idea of her." His voice was soft and reverent. "She's everything you can never be. She's pure and hopeful. Her world's puppies and sunshine. She's beautiful. If she loved you that would prove that you were less of a monster because someone like her couldn't love something terrible. What you don't see is making her love you is another way to conquer her. Look inside yourself. Your demon positively salivates at the thought of **_owning_ **her **_breaking_ **her."

I felt exposed and scraped raw. My first instinct was to say something equally cutting. To make him feel like he was bleeding too.

I tired too. But I found I couldn't. I didn't know him well enough to dig into his soul the way he had to me. That scared me more than anything. For it proved him correct. I didn't know him.

Shaken I exclaimed, "You're wrong." Somehow when I said it I realized I'd said it hoping it would make it true.

His look was pitying. "Am I?"


	30. k,l

A/N: Another long wait. I'm a horrible person but I'm not sure if I'm ever going to finish this story. And for heaven's sake I haven't even followed my promise and delivered Gambit. But even if I never finish this I promise that I will do that.

VI: (k) Angel

Devil's Lies, and Truths

Manipulation. As a mortal I was good at crude ways of getting my way. Sweet-talking my mother or my sister into intervening with my father, getting money, but nothing that compared to the elaborate emotional trauma I inflicted on my prey as Angelus. Angelus had been a master and proud of it.

Looking into the eyes of a boy who had never shown any love for me I used that revolting experience, praying to find a lie, some sign that he was playing me.

I looked away.

The truth sat as heavy in my stomach as any meal of stolen blood ever had. "No." I spat out bitterly. _Ashes in my mouth, I wonder if I got staked and didn't notice?_

There was a moment of silence then a shocked, "Wow. You listened. The sun must be shining." I didn't look at him. Facing those guileless eyes again would undo me.

A gentle touch on my arm startled me into facing him. There was more kindness in his expression than I'd seen turned my way in centuries, "Come on," He grinned wryly, "I think you need a drink."

In silence once more we headed off in the direction of his house. This time the air was full of commiseration and a truce.

VI: (l) Xander

Alcohol

Eternally glad that Sunnydale was enough of a city to have streetlights I headed up the walk to my house.

My arch-enemy and I were going off to get drunk together. It was so comic book. Part of me was rolling around in the isles and part of me was skeptical as hell that this reform would last. After all the bad guys: Magneto, Creed, they always seemed to turn a new leaf then bam they were back to the slaughter and the laughing. Seriously, it didn't take long to convince him I was right, how long would it take him to convince himself I was wrong? _I'm giving myself a headache._

Unlocking the door I turned to look at Angel. I was about to invite the once evil fiend into my house. I'd bashed some sense into his head tonight but doing this would be the ultimate sign of trust. Something that until tonight I would never dreamed of extending to what had seemed like to me a dangerous idiot.

_Is this really the brightest idea?_ The voice of sanity asked. As usual I clobbered it on the head. Sometimes you have to go with your gut, okay most of the time. I swung the door open. "Come on in Deadboy." Walking in I stopped in the foyer surprised. Mom was sitting on the stairs still dressed and holding a cup of coffee.

"Mom! What are you doing up?" As soon as I asked I knew the answer. She was waiting for me to come home. Warmth fluttered in my heart and I cleared my throat. "I mean, hi." There was movement out of the corner of my eye. "Ah, this-" I paused, he wasn't a friend yet- "is Angel."

She stood up and I recognized how much better sobriety suited her complexion. _Oi, I need to get some testosterone in my life. Do vampires have hormones?_

She extended her hand to Angel shooting me a puzzled look, "Nice to met you. I'm Elizabeth. I thought you told me never to invite anyone in?"

Understanding I turned to Deadboy, who was being all polite gentleman, and explained, "Due to the unexpected combination of a crossbow and a troll I had to let Mom here in on the Monster of the Month club." Facing my Mom again I said, "Mom, Angel here- he's dead. He's the numero uno exception. "

"I see." She said slowly, which obviously translated to 'I have no clue but I'll go along with that since I don't think I really want to know anyway'. Raising an eyebrow in Angel's direction, "Been dead long?"

VI: (m) Angel

You Can't Forget Your Family

(They Won't Let You)

Jack Daniels is good at quieting memories. Staring into my fifth glass I couldn't help but think that the Harrises already had guessed this judging by the fullness of their liquor cabinet. Picking up the glass I threw it back. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Xander nursing his glass. He saw me anyway and correctly interrupted my gaze.

"Sometimes I think Dad put beer in my baby bottle. Don't worry Deadboy I just don't want to face Snyder with a hangover." He ended his statement with a sip while his lovely mother gave him a bitter smile.

Elizabeth raised her own glass, "It's a good thing nobody in my side of the family suffers from physical addiction. My mother used to say that our family made a deal with a demon so we wouldn't suffer the consequences of our vices." Downing the liquid she took a deep breath, "I wish they had included hangovers in that deal."

I stared at her and I knew her son was doing the same. "Uh, she happen to mention the name of the demon?"

It was Elizabeth's turn to stare. "You're not serious? It's just a British saying. Like, 'deal with the devil.' Isn't it?"

"Grandma was British!" Xander blurted out.

_I think I'm getting a hangover early._ Rubbing at the sudden ache in my temple I contemplated the likelihood of this. "You're maiden name would be…?"

A little frown between her brow, she answered, "Pryce."

I poured myself a larger drink, "That's one of the old Watcher families. Like Travers, Wyndham, Powers, Tredor, Giles."

Looking straight at me she whispered, "Sounds like a family reunion to me. Even my father was in there." She turned to look at her son, "My mum was smart about a lot of things but men wasn't one of them. Wasn't til I was born that she had the strength to leave that two timing bastard father of mine. Lord Giles was already married with a kid and he still chased after anything in a skirt." Ruefully she shook her head, "I never even met the man and mum had to leave the continent to get away from the scandal."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Xander start drinking down his glass. He didn't stop until it was empty then he slammed it down on the table.

"I hate the Hellmouth."


End file.
